


Living Large

by paintitb1ack



Series: In Me [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood and Violence, Character Death, Episode: s11e11 Into the Mystic, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Torture, Rape, Sam Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Torture, possibility of slash occasionally mentioned just for the heck of it, samifer slash can fuck off
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 23,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintitb1ack/pseuds/paintitb1ack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer!Cas has transported himself and Sam Winchester topside. The archangel is furious with Sam's physical attacks and refusal to say "yes" so, with his boy's greatest fears in mind, he prepares to give him absolute hell.<br/>Meanwhile, Dean switches gears from locating Amara to finding Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A perfect start.

The landing catches Sam Winchester completely by surprise. It has been so long since Castiel has transported him from one place to another that the “first time” nausea and disorientation are back. But he’s barely focused on the possibly that he might vomit; blood continues to seep from various wounds, his arm and leg are dislocated, and Cas’ angel blade is still buried deep in his shoulder. He can barely think, barely breathe, barely do anything but keep grasping at Lucifer’s hands, hoping to God he’ll release him. 

Lucifer takes in his boy’s tears without so much as a smirk. Ten minutes ago, he would have been smiling. Hell, he might even have been laughing. But the fury that courses through his veins denies him all but the blood-red eyes that he has trained on the abomination at his feet.  With a low growl, the archangel gives Sam a shove and jerks the blade from his shoulder.

Sam groans in what is a combination of both pain and relief. He presses a hand against the wound, clenching his jaw as tightly as he can as he tries to stop the bleeding.

_breathe breathe breathe_

In an attempt to distract himself, the younger Winchester looks up, taking for the first time the place to which he was brought. 

They are both stationed in the middle of a large bedroom, but it isn’t like any one Sam has ever been in. It is almost like something out of a movie: the walls climb two stories to the ceiling; the window panes and doorways have pure gold borders, handles, and knobs; and the seemingly custom-carved poster bed is cloaked in red blankets and numerous pillows, and could fit both Winchesters and their angel with plenty of room to spare. Whoever’s home they are in, these people are very, very wealthy.

“Where are we?” Sam asks, voice small.

“Does it matter?” Lucifer replies sharply.

Sam drops his eyes, immediately put in his place. “No.”

The archangel “mmm”s softly and, for a moment, Sam thinks he’s earned himself another strike. But suddenly Lucifer turns his head, ear to the air, listening. 

The younger Winchester, realizing what he’s doing, tries his hardest to hear what it is that has caught Lucifer’s attention. And when he does, there’s nothing he can do to stop pounding of his heart.

Laughter. There is laughter coming from the first floor.

Sam knows the applied slogan of his trade: “Saving people, hunting things, the family business”. From the hungry look on Lucifer’s face and the wounds that litter his own body, the “saving people” part doesn’t look too promising. And Sam isn’t even sure if he wants to save them; Lucifer’s time spent killing them might be enough to get to one of the windows and escape. 

**_Mind reader, you stupid bitch._ **

Before Sam can even process the words, Lucifer has him by the throat, rushing him forwards and slamming him against the wall. Taking hold of Sam’s unbroken arm, he raises it up next to his head. Then he readjusts Castiel’s angel blade and drives it through his palm. He clamps a hand over his boy’s mouth, muffling the agonized scream. “Listen to me, Sam,” the archangel breathes, lips skimming his ear. “I have had a very long and difficult day, and you -  _you -_ are the reason why. The only reason I am not peeling the skin off of your bones is because, although it may not seem like it, I love you. Not as a person, I mean; as a person you're kind of an dick. I just _really love your ass._ ” 

_not happening not happening not happening_

He moves back a couple of inches, fingers glowing as he travels his hand over Sam’s broken limbs. “As much as I'd love to have you right here, I’ve got a few humans to carve up first. Now, I’d really like to take my hand off of your mouth, but I know for a fact that you’re quite the screamer. So…” Lucifer releases his grip and, true to his captor’s theory, Sam opens his mouth to shout a warning to the people downstairs.

But he can’t make a sound. He looks up at Lucifer, quite literally flapping his gums. 

“Not too bad a trick, eh?” The archangel rises to his full height and taps a finger against his lips. “You know, I’m surprised Gabriel didn't use that one on you guys more often.”

Sam shakes his head, telepathically pleading with Lucifer to leave them alone.

“And if I do,” the archangel replies aloud, deciding to roll with it, “what do I get in return?”

Sam drops into complete silence.

“Isn’t there normally a “take me instead” offer involved at some point?”

_i_

“But not this time.” Lucifer finally smiles, his red eyes and shadowed expression completing his perfectly ghoulish appearance. “This time you’d rather these humans die, these humans you’ve _sworn_ to protect, if it means the possibility that you’ll get out of here unpunished.” He moves to the doorway, fingers tap-tapping against the golden arch. “Listen, sweetheart, every single person in this house is going to die. Killing  _you,_ though?" A chuckle. "You should be so lucky.” He looks into the hall, his twisted expression like an animal not hungry for food, but for blood. "Ohhh," he says with a laugh, "this is going to be so much fun."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Humans are complete imbeciles.

Lucifer takes his time going down the stairs. He hasn’t committed any multiple consecutive murders since before his second time in The Cage, but he  has enough pride and confidence to know that he will not mess this up. 

He can sense the family from the landing, can smell the sweet blood that flows through their delicate veins.

**_Five humans. Two adults, three children._ **

Your garden-variety angel would have a tough time even _considering_ the death of such young creatures. But they are Lucifer’s favourite, or at least by extension. The grief-stricken faces of parents excite him beyond belief. Fear, it would seem, tastes just as good as blood.

When he enters the dining area, the first person to notice him is a little boy.

“Hi-hi!” The child greets him, waving a chubby hand.

The archangel waves back.

The father looks up from the table, smiling at his son’s voice. But the moment he makes eye-contact with Lucifer, every bit of lightheartedness is stripped from his expression. “Amelia,” he says quietly, and his wife quickly follows his gaze.

**_Amelia._ **

Lucifer feels a sudden tightness in his gut.

**_Castiel, my brother, now is not the time._ **

He shoves the younger angel further into the back of his mind, and the pain immediately dissipates. Unlike Sam, Castiel is much easier to control.

The husband stands and pulls his two daughters from the table; his wife takes the little boy into her arms. The fear on their faces sets Lucifer’s heart aflutter, but he will not kill them yet. He will squeeze every last bit of terror from their bodies before he allows Death to sweep them away.

Lucifer takes a step forwards, his approach backing the humans against the wall. “You have a lovely home,” he says softly, drawing his fingers across the table.

“What do you want?” The man asks, voice strained. 

“Truthfully?” Pursing his lips, the archangel looks up from the family’s partially-eaten dinner. “I’ve got quite the hankering to see three little children feasting on their parents’ boiled carcasses.” He shrugs. “But I suppose I’ll settle for a home-cooked meal instead.” He gestures towards their empty chairs as he takes a seat at the head of the table. “Go on, now. Join me.”

The father is the only one who moves, but it is not to obey. Perhaps he does not believe Lucifer notices how he shifts his foot in front of him, how both knees bend slightly, how he locks his jaw. From the thoughts that circle round and round in his mind, he also believes that Lucifer has no weapon and, considering his body structure, he can easily take him down.

The archangel forces himself to keep from rolling his eyes. Humans are idiots.

The husband launches himself forwards, ignoring his wife’s cries for him to stop.

Lucifer shakes his head. It is always the women who survive the longest, and the reason for that is quite simple: men cannot seem to tell the difference between bravery and stupidity. Considering his recklessness and aptitude for getting killed, Dean Winchester is a prime example. Even Castiel can occasionally find himself in this group; spending time and connecting with humans is a surefire way to make any supernatural being vulnerable. The only person who is exempt from this rule would have to be the boy he has pinned to the wall upstairs. He is clever, the ultimate strategist, much like Lucifer himself. When his brother is involved, however, he loses all of his cutthroat brilliance. But Lucifer plans to rectify that. He _will_ rectify that. 

The man is almost upon him now, yet the archangel simply leans back, raises a hand, and snaps his fingers.

The response is immediate and overwhelmingly violent. The man explodes, flesh and blood slapping against the walls and everyone else in the room. The little girls scream, but the newly-made widow just stands there, eyes locked on Lucifer’s face.

The presence of fear skyrockets, but it still isn’t enough.

**_Let’s up the stakes._ **

Lucifer smiles, gaze flickering down onto the little boy. “Anyone else?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amelia is a reference to Jimmy Novak's wife.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was probably a better way for him to handle this...

Sam closes his eyes, filtering out the children’s screams.

_you you focus on you_

He has always believed that he is a selfish person, but this is something on another level. He is choosing to ignore all that he has been taught, all that he has ever stood for, in favor of himself.

**_My, my, my, what would Dean say?_ **

_he would tell you to shut the hell up,_ Sam's mind hisses at the imagined voice.

**_And if he knew about the massacre going on downstairs?_ **

The younger Winchester doesn’t even take a moment to consider the coldness of his response: 

_well, dean isn’t here right now, is he_

**_I suppose not._ **

_then shut the hell up_

Without another thought, Sam reaches up towards the angel blade, fingers curling around the pommel. He breathes in and out quickly, preparing himself.

_now_

He yanks the weapon forwards, pulling it as hard as he can. 

The metal cuts deeper into his skin, and more blood leaks from the wound, but the blade itself does not budge.

A growl in his throat, Sam tries again. And again. And again and again and again. 

_DAMN IT_

If the boy could speak, he would have cried out in frustration. 

The archangel is no fool. He knew that Sam would try to get away, o _f course_ he did, and Sam was just too big of an idiot to realize it. 

**_Stupid, stupid Sammy Winchester._ **

_shut the hell up_

**_You keep on saying that._ **

_because you won’t shut the hell up_

Sam wiggles the knife back and forth, trying to widen its plaster sheath.

**_I could help you._ **

He continues to look for some sort of give as he attempts to filter him out.

**_C’mon, Sammy, it’ll be just like old times._ **

Finally, he releases the blade and sighs deeply, head back against the wall.

_what would you suggest_

The younger Winchester can feel the voice smiling.

**_Castiel's weapon isn’t going anywhere, so—_ **

_yeah, I got that part_

**So _, if you can’t move the knife…_**

_move my hand_

**_And then?_ **

Sam stares across the room at a window that could probably, with a bit of discomfort, fit him through.

_break the hell out_

**_Atta boy._ **

He clenches his other fist, eyes closed. 

Tearing his hand through a blade. 

Tearing his hand through an _angel_ blade.

Skin and bones and muscle would rip apart, creating irreparable damage. He would probably never be able to hunt again. 

After all he’s gone through in the last few days, however, he’s not quite sure he cares. 

He’s left the business before, but each of those times lasted only a few months. But with Lucifer out, he wants nothing more than to leave every bit of the life behind. Could he, though? Could he really forsake other humans, his _own brother,_ if only to guarantee his safety?

Sam shakes his head. He’s overthinking this. 

_just do it just do it just one quick pull and that’s it_

Turning his face away, he jerks his hand down in one sudden, violent motion. Shock takes over him first and, for a moment, Sam is completely still. 

Then the first wave hits.

Sam screams into the air, throat burning, but Lucifer's bond remains and he has no voice. 

Ruined hand clutched to his chest, he tries to get all the way to his feet, but there is so much blood, so much blood just pouring from the flesh that has nearly been cut in half. 

A blackness slams against his eyes as he screams again, the agony forcing him to his knees. His mouth opens one more time, curses prepared to fly from within, but suddenly his mind goes blank. 

And Sam Winchester collapses, unconscious, in a pool of his own blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This next update is gonna be beautiful, I promise.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more intimidation before Sam is introduced to the family. Or at least what's left of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the ridiculously long wait. Summer courses. But this one and 'Road Trip!' will probably begin to be updated on a more frequent basis. Thanks for your patience.

“Sam.” Lucifer flicks a strand of hair out of his boy’s face. “Hey.”

He gives a pause, allowing a chance for response. But none comes, and impatience twists his face into a scowl. “Alright, enough. I’m starting to think you’re just doing this to piss me off.”

Silence.

“Hey,” he says again. “ _Hey.”_

The words waver below Sam’s radar, the threat of unconsciousness drawing the two men further and further apart.

Then Lucifer slaps him.

Sam jerks back, eyes wide, shock bringing him back towards the surface. Groaning softly in pain, he ignores the clouded voice that beckons him. His head lolls to one side.

**_Sam._ **

A hand takes his jaw in an iron grip and pulls his head harshly back into place.

“Sam?”

Blue dips into his blurred vision, and Sam blinks, reluctantly pushing against the fog.

“Sam, focus. Eyes on me.”

The younger Winchester grimaces, the words grating, but he’s finally beginning to settle.

A concerned face parallels his own, brown eyebrows raised. “You with us?” Cas’ voice asks.

Terror shoots through Sam’s veins, a sharp intake of breath proving he knows exactly what’s going on. That he remembers.

Lucifer smiles. “There he is.”

“What---” Sam starts, but his voice barely surpasses a whisper. Mute screams though they were, the toll his silent cries took on his throat is severe. He drops his gaze, taking stock of the situation as he tries to regain control of his thoughts. But his breathing only becomes more laboured as he realizes exactly how much trouble he’s in.

Lucifer obviously found him in the upstairs bedroom, lying like an idiot in a pool of his own blood. The younger Winchester didn’t even want to think about what he’d looked like, passed out in Lucifer’s arms. In any other setting, it would have been almost comical, Cas lugging his stupidly large body around. But _this_...

This is just _embarrassing_.

**_Oh, I don’t know about that. I thought you looked kind of adorable._ **

Sam clenches his fists and immediately his entire body tenses up; he can feel the familiar bite of rope digging into the skin around his wrists.

**_Take a head count, babe. How many free limbs do you have?_ **

The words barely enter Sam’s mind before he looks down.

Thick ropes bind him to the armrests of his chair and, though in the back of his mind he knows the movement is completely futile, he pulls at them hard, so hard, in fact, that red burns begin to set in beneath the coarse restraints. He curses silently, with words strong enough to make even Dean blush.

**_My, my, Sammy. Do you kiss your angel with that mouth?_ **

“Screw you,” his boy rasps.

Lucifer rocks back on his heels, looking up at Sam from his crouched position.

**_Oh, that's gonna happen, and soon. But right now I need you to focus._ **

Sam flexes the muscles in his legs, hoping against hope that his arms are the only things out of commission.

But they’re not, of course they’re not, and the position his bottom half is in is far worse than he might have imagined.

His knees are spread, with both calves tied to the outsides of the chair legs. His shoes have been removed, as have his socks, and his bare toes are the only things capable of touching the ground.

Besides feeling terrifyingly exposed, Sam is forced to acknowledge the idea that he is not going anywhere. If he somehow manages to slip free of the ropes, the way in which his lower limbs are bound ensures that he will barely make it out of the chair, let alone the house.

 **_Still missing something,_ ** Cas’ voice sings as he brings pointer finger and thumb together.

Sam jolts, green eyes wide with fear at the sudden pressure against his throat. Unintelligible thoughts fly through his head, all words lost as he struggles violently against all that holds him down. But the more he fights, the less air makes it through his lips. Invisible hands tighten around his neck, choking him, like a snake before it breaks a mouse’s spine.

**_Easy does it, cowboy._ **

The hold on his throat goes slack, and he responds immediately with a choked cry of absolute fear.

“Yeah, I know.” Lucifer grimaces, dropping his hand. “A bit much, am I right?”

Sam turns his gaze to the ceiling and swallows hard, his adam’s apple just barely slipping past the rope that binds his neck to the slats in the chair. “You, you didn’t---” he says, the words stumbling over each other. “You didn’t have to--- this wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t---”

The archangel smiles, mocking his boy’s stutter. “"Wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t” what?”

 _“Necessary,”_ Sam manages finally. “It wasn’t--- the ropes, they weren’t---”

“Of course they weren’t necessary.” Lucifer traces a finger along the edge of Sam’s knee and shrugs. “I guess I’ve just got a thing for guys when they’re all tied up.” He looks up at the younger Winchester and purses his lips. “Or maybe it’s just you.” He leans against Sam’s legs, the single digit now two hands sliding slowly up his thighs.

His boy takes a shuddering breath.

_i’m fine_

“Sam Winchester…”

_it’s okay i’m good i’m fine_

“...bound to the bars of The Cage….”

_stay present_

“...naked, sweating…”

_i’m here_

“...so open, so inviting…”

_i’m out_

“...screaming my name…”

_dean got me out_

“...over and over and over…”

_and he’s coming_

“...until I finally give him what he wants.”

_dean will save me_

A smirk pulls at Lucifer's lips as he gets to his feet. "Oh, yeah..." he murmurs, leaning in. "It's definitely just you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to start them out in the upstairs bedroom then work their way downstairs but a little birdie commented that it would be cool if the chapter started out more Hannibal-esque. It's definitely not in line with what happened with Will and Hannibal but, then again, I couldn't have Lucifer try and remove the top of Sam's head. Or at least not yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're only around so long as you're useful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kids have been given names that refer to very prominent characters formerly on the show. Can you guess who's who?

_i’m fine_

“You sure about that, bunk buddy?” Lucifer smiles, nipping lightly at the corner of his boy’s mouth.

_i’m fine i am i am_

“You _absolutely_ sure?”

Sam closes his eyes, jaw clenched as the archangel tries to worm a forked tongue between his lips.

_i’m fine_

He can feel them already, the tears, the droplets that slip from beneath his tight lids. They catch mercifully in his long, brown lashes, sparing him for the moment yet another sign of weakness. But that won’t last long, of course it won’t. If time has told anything, it’s that Sam Winchester turns easily into a whimpering, sob-choked mess. It’ll be a miracle if he can manage to keep it together even another thirty seconds.

A hand brushes against his crotch.

“What are you doing to him?”

Sam’s eyes fly back open, every inch of his body on high alert as his attention locks on the woman’s voice.

“Who---” He breathes against Lucifer’s skin. “Who is that?”

“Oh, that’s right!” The archangel claps him on the shoulder. “You still have to meet the family!” He pulls back and Sam should be able to breathe again but he doesn’t, he can’t.

_the family_

He had to have heard him incorrectly. He couldn’t have, _wouldn’t_ have left the family alive. Why would he, there’s no point, there’s no point except to

**_Bingo._ **

Lucifer sits himself down across his boy’s lap and Sam immediately jumps, a broken whine in his throat.

_please please please please please pl_

**_Focus, Sammy. You’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus._ **

Leaning back against the younger Winchester’s chest, the angel gestures towards the opposite side of the room. “I’d like you to meet Tyler, Ally, and Jade.”

Jaw locked, entire body stiff beneath Lucifer’s weight, Sam turns only his eyes in the direction of the outstretched hand.

He is tied down near the end of a long table, and directly across from him sit three young children, one boy and two girls.

Tyler is obviously the youngest at maybe two years old. His thin, brown hair has been combed to one side, and tiny, blue eyes peek out from above two chubby cheeks. Ally is next, contrasting her younger sibling with hazel eyes and wavy, blonde locks that just barely pass her ears. A thin arm curls around the six-year-old’s hunched shoulders, and Sam glances over to find the oldest child, Jade, staring at him. It’s not a glare; her brown searches his green as though trying to decide if this man, this _stranger_ , is capable of saving them. But it doesn’t last long. The ten-year-old quickly turns her gaze from him as she wipes a single red dot from her face.

And suddenly Sam realizes that he missed something, something big.

Similar red dots fleck the skin of Tyler and Ally as well, but it isn’t until he sees Jade’s heavily-stained blouse that he allows himself to understand one simple, grotesque fact: the children are covered in blood.

_what did you what did you do_

Lucifer tsks, ignoring the silent voice as he taps a finger against Sam’s chest. “Now, now, roomie, remember your manners.”

The younger Winchester swallows hard, eyes still locked on the gore that layers their innocent skin.

_what did you do to them_

**_Sammy…_ **

_but what did you what did you do to_

A sharp pain slices through his abdomen and he gasps.

**_Focus._ **

His boy nods, then nods again as he speaks to the children. “S’nice to meet you.”

“Nice t’meet you!” Tyler mimics happily, and Sam has to look away to keep himself from breaking down in tears.

They don’t understand. None of them do.

They don’t understand how much danger they’re in, how they’ll probably be dead before the night is through. They don’t understand that, if they do live to see the sun, they’ll probably have been willing to forgo that privilege hours earlier. They don’t understand that the man, the _monster_ that stands before them is the most horrifying being ever created, ever created by _God Himself._

And the only reason that they are still alive is because it is _destroying_ Sam, it is _destroying_ him, it is _tearing him apart_ to watch their innocence drained from their tiny bodies, if only to torture the boy for making a choice, for saying “no”, for standing up for himself to the one who claimed him eons past.

Sam thought barely one week ago that he could do this, that he was ready to die, that he was ready to watch the people he loved die.

But looking at them now, looking _into their eyes_ now, all he sees is yet another deadly consequence for yet another stupid mistake. These people, these _children_ are going to pay for his blind rebellion against someone who can't be fought, someone who can't be bargained or reasoned with.

They don't understand that. None of them do.

So Sam Winchester does what Sam Winchester always does. He takes a deep breath and looks past Lucifer, looks past the angel who owned him, both in body and soul, and looks directly into the eyes of the children sitting just out of reach.

And he lies.

"It's going to be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tyler is a reference to Ty Olsson, who depicted the vampire Benny.  
> Ally is a reference to Alona Tal, who depicted Jo Harvelle.  
> Jade is a reference to Ruby the demon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love Cas, but I'd be happy to make a full-time occupation out of talking about what a dick he was to say "yes".

Lucifer laughs.

It’s practically maniacal, the noise he makes. It’s high-pitched and mocking, a sound Sam has heard plenty of times before, but never from Cas’ lips. It’s almost strange, and a bit horrifying, to see such evil spout from a man he called his friend.

Dean might have smacked him for talking about his relationship with Cas in the past tense. But Sam doesn’t care. Cas did this. He did this because he thought he could use Lucifer, he thought he could _use_ him and get away with it. He thought that he could beat him. It was stupid; every bit of it was stupid. Even at full strength, there was no way in hell Cas could have beat an archangel, and Lucifer wasn’t bound to go easy on him just because he was his little brother. For God’s sake, Lucifer killed Cas with just a snap of his fingers and, just five years later, the winged bastard thought he could _beat_ him? It’s not like the archangel grew any weaker during his time in The Cage.

Apart from his idiocy, Sam still can’t get over the Cas’ apparent selfishness. Yes, he did this to help beat the Darkness, but he didn’t think how this would affect everything in the long run. He didn’t think of heaven or hell; he didn’t think of the humans he’d sworn to protect; he didn’t even think of _Dean,_ the “righteous man” _,_ his friend with whom he shared a “profound bond”.

And he didn’t think of Sam. He didn’t think of what it would do to him if Lucifer was released, if Lucifer was allowed to roam freely, if Lucifer was capable of touching him and getting away with it. And it’s not even like he didn’t see Sam’s reaction to being in the same space as the archangel for the second time. When Cas arrived, the younger Winchester was lying on the ground, broken and bleeding, pressing himself as hard as he could against the bars of The Cage, as if he could somehow put more distance between him and his tormentor. Cas saw this. He saw Sam, saw the look on his face. He knew how close the boy was to breaking. And yet he welcomed Lucifer in without even being asked.

**_Curious, isn’t it?_ **

Sam snaps to attention, the memories fleeing quickly at the sound of the archangel’s voice.

**_I guess you’ll have to ask Castiel his reasoning once he’s no longer my vessel._ **

_And what,_ I’m _your vessel instead?_

**_Well, yeah._ **

Sam huffs softly and glances away. It is only then that he sees the fourth, blood-soaked person seated at the table. Though she looks young, it’s obvious that she is the children’s mother. There is an empty chair to her right, at the head of the table. It is the only unoccupied seat with a plate of food in front of it, so Sam can only conclude that the person who was sitting there is the one now splattered on the faces and clothes of the everyone else. And, from the stiff look on the mother’s face and the way she plays with her wedding ring also leads him to believe that it is her husband that coats the walls.

“Amelia.”

Sam looks to Lucifer. “What?”

“Amelia,” the archangel repeats. “Her name is Amelia.”

“Amelia?” Sam says.

Irritation pulls at the corner of his mouth. “What, is there an echo in here? Yes. Her name is Amelia.”

The image of a skinny, dirty-blonde woman flashes in the back of Sam’s mind. “But I thought---”

“Yeah, no, she’s not the same one.” Lucifer pokes him in the ribs. “But that would’ve been pretty funny, right?”

The younger Winchester raises his eyebrows. “Funny?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.”

Leaning back against the chair, Sam scoffs.

Lucifer considers him for a few moments, and Sam suddenly realizes that the silence is the archangel deciding whether or not to punish his boy’s insolence.

But Lucifer just purses his lips, “mmm”s softly, and says, “I’ll let that one slide.”

Sam blows out in relief.

**_Just don't try me again._ **


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, I guess it's a place to start.

Dean opens the trunk of the Impala and pulls out a shovel.

Since the first time he did it eleven years ago, summoning a crossroads demon has always set his teeth on edge. It’s been over a decade and, for a reason he can’t seem to figure out, he still hasn’t gotten over it. Sam has told him on multiple occasions that it has to do with Dean having post-traumatic stress disorder from his time in hell.

After Sam regained all of his memories, he obviously acquired a fear of angels. When the older Winchester asked him why he was so skittish around Cas, Sam told him that it was the same reason why Dean was terrified of dogs: the traumatic experiences they each went through had produced many triggers. For Sam, one of them was angels. And for Dean, one of them was dogs. After listening to Sam’s explanation, Dean said something along the lines of “if I wanted therapy, I’d watch Dr. Phil”, prompting Sam to nod and leave the room.

 _Just do it._ Dean tucks a tin box under his arm and begins to walk. _Don’t think. Just do it._

He reaches the middle of the crossroads and has a hole dug within thirty seconds. With a deep breath, he places the box inside and quickly shovels the dirt back on top.

_Don’t think. Just do it._

He moves back two paces. “Daemon, esto subjecto voluntati meae.” No matter the terror he feels, his voice does not waver. There’s no room for fear, not while Lucifer has Sam.

“Come on, you sons of bitches!” Dean shouts, rough voice echoing in the night. “I’m right here!”

He shouldn’t even be doing this. If he did any research at all, he’d probably discover a safer way to go about finding Lucifer. But, off the top of his head, this is the best way he knows to get information. And it’s not like he’s opposed to killing a couple of demons while he’s at it.

“What are you waiting for?!” He screams. “Come and get me!”

“Anger issues much?”

Dean whirls around, hand reaching to his side for Ruby’s knife. But he drops his arm when he realizes who it is. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Really, Dean?” The owner of the voice runs a hand through her short, blonde hair. “A little respect would be nice.”

“Miley Cyrus is a demon?” The older Winchester scoffs. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Why so rude?” She pouts. "You’re not still sore over your boyfriend coming over to the dark side, are you?”

Irritation flickers across Dean’s face. “Cas? Yeah, that douchebag is on my crap-list, but first I’ve got a bone to pick with your master.”

“Last I heard, Lucifer was on a road trip with your little brother.” Miley takes a step in his direction. “He’s gonna say “yes”, you know that, right?”

“You keep your mouth shut."

A blackness floods her eyes. “Or what?”

“Or this.” Dean unsheathes his knife and swings the blade in a wide arc, slitting the singer’s throat. Blood slaps his face, but he doesn’t even flinch. He just watches as she falls to the ground, mouth open in a soundless scream that fails to escape her lungs. Her body flashes with light as the demon inside her dies, and finally she goes still.

The older Winchester wipes Ruby’s knife clean against his shirt, choosing to ignore the dark red that covers half his face. “Alright, you bastards,” he says with a growl. “Let’s try this again.” He looks out into the dark.

"Esto subjecto voluntati meae."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't say things like that.

Dean goes through three more demons before he manages to summon one who actually wants to talk.

He’s called Kev, a name that the older Winchester refuses to use, for obvious reasons.

“You got something you wanna tell me?” Dean says, running a finger along the curve of Ruby’s knife. After killing the third demon, he stopped cleaning it. It was a pointless action and, though he will never admit it, he feels a rush whenever he looks at the gore that layers the silver blade. Every time he tears a demon in half, it's just another scoop of ice cream in a rapidly-filling bowl. But, in the end, how many he kills won’t make a difference, because what he really wants is the cherry.

Kev swallows hard. Of course he has to deal with the infamous Dean Winchester the first time he is sent topside to do a job. He is forced to wonder if this was done on purpose, if only for his bosses to get a laugh out of another low-tier demon screw-up. 

And it isn’t just that he has to deal with Dean Winchester; it’s that he has to deal with the Dean Winchester who just had his brother taken from him, the Dean Winchester who knows no mercy, the Dean Winchester who literally has nothing left to lose.

Unfortunately, what lies on the other side of the coin is even worse: Lucifer. 

The fallen angel, much like his estranged brothers, can destroy any creature with a simple snap of his fingers. But he never does it because he’s angry. His instant disintegration of life is born completely out of boredom. 

If someone screws up a mission, however, or is even the slightest bit rude... those are the ones with whom Lucifer takes his time. Rumor has it that, if Lucifer corrals you into an empty room, there’s no way in hell you’re walking back out.

But the wickedness and fury that has been so associated with Lucifer, now evenly cloaks Dean Winchester. Sam is a king the archangel has cornered in a rigged game of chess. But there’s been no checkmate, not yet, and there won’t be one until one of the players dies. 

It only comes down to one thing, really. Who is he more afraid of: Dean or Lucifer?

“Hey, Barton, you still with us?”

Kev looks up at Dean. 

There  _is_ a grey area, however - a way to walk the line without getting killed by either party. Utilizing that path is obviously his only viable choice.

“What do want to know?” The demon asks, nonchalant.

Dean’s lips quiver for a moment, as though attempting to stifle a laugh. Fear is buried deep in the graves of all creatures and, though Kev’s words seem void of any panic, the older Winchester knows it’s in there, and that it’s closer to the surface than the young demon would probably like. 

“Sam,” he replies. “Tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know.”

Dean lashes out with a single arm but, just before he can land a punch, Kev ducks out of the way and shoulder-checks him into the ground.

The older Winchester quickly pushes himself back to his feet, the words “you son of a bitch” unintelligible beneath the growl that rumbles in the back of his throat.

“Now, wait, hold on,” Kev says, hands raised in front of him. “You’re not going to get anywhere by killing me.”

Dean smiles, cracking the dried blood at the corner of his mouth. “I’ve already gutted four of you pissheads; you think I’m afraid to knife a fifth, a sixth, a seventh? You don't got the information I want, so what’s the point---”

“You don’t get it,” Kev says, shaking his head. “ _No one_  knows where Lucifer is.”

“‘Scuse me?”

“He just vanished.” The demon shrugs. “Last we heard, he went topside to torture you and Sam.”

Dean locks his jaw.

_Breathe. You need him._

“Him wearing Castiel as a meat suit must’ve really messed you guys up. How’d you find out?” Kev smiles slightly. “He told Sam first, didn’t he? That’s what I would’ve done.”

_You need him._

“We all heard what happened when they were in The Cage together.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean’s voice is far too loud, and injected with an incredible amount of fear. So much for staying calm.

Kev nods, eyebrows raised. For the moment, he’s on top, and he’ll be damned if he isn’t going to enjoy it.

“And what did, uh,” Dean clears his throat, “what did he tell you?” 

“That Sam was his bitch.”

_Don’t_

“A slut, really.”

_Stop it_

“Baby brother took it in the ass every day for over an eon.”

Dean feels like he’s just been slapped. He knows what happened. Sam’s reveal in the bunker was evidence enough; the unwanted, through-the-clothes handjob only solidified the truth of his statement. For some reason, though, to hear the act described so blatantly is even worse.

“Can you imagine that?” Kev continues. “Getting _literally_ screwed by the devil?”

“You shut your damn mouth,” the older Winchester tries, but he can’t keep his voice from shaking.

“Sam loved it too. Screamed Lucifer's name every time the angel got him off.”

Dean witnessed that latter part first-hand, so he knows it's true, but he doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about any of it. He just wants to find his brother.

Kev opens his mouth again, but Dean has had enough. The demon doesn't even register the gun the older Winchester is holding until an entire magazine of salt-tipped bullets is suddenly buried in his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kev is (obviously) a reference to Kevin Tran.  
> Dean calling the demon "Barton" refers to the deaf Marvel superhero, Clint Barton (aka Hawkeye).


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer gets a chance to show off (as if he doesn't do that enough already).

“Alright,” Lucifer says, clearing his throat. “Back to introductions. Ladies and gentleman, I’d like to introduce you to my high school sweetheart, Sam Winchester.”

Tyler waves at Sam again, prompting Jade to reach around Ally’s back and slap him on the arm. The little boy narrows his eyes, but obeys the non-verbal command and drops his hands into his lap.

The younger Winchester exhales softly through his nose, more amused than he should be.

Lucifer notices. “You’re not thinking about having kids one day, are you, bunk buddy?” 

Sam’s mouth opens, then quickly shuts as he shifts his eyes to the ceiling. To say he never considered having children would be a lie, but it’s been years since he last entertained the thought. Theoretically, it would probably be nice, having miniature versions of himself and his partner running around, learning to play baseball, going to school. Dean would make a good uncle too, if he wasn’t the one Sam ended up with.

But he’s afraid - so, so afraid - that he wouldn’t be a good dad. Maybe if his childhood had been better, maybe if he hadn’t been so terrified of his  _ own _ father, maybe then he would feel competent enough. But what if Sam’s children were scared of  _ their  _ dad  _ too?  _ The younger Winchester has never been abusive towards anyone in his entire life, and he knows this. But the simple thought that he could invoke in his own children as much fear and hatred as his father did in him is too much for him to handle. 

“The answer you’re looking for is “no”,” Lucifer says sharply, and Sam immediately nods in agreement. 

“So who is he?”

Sam feels Lucifer stiffen as he turns towards the mother. “Excuse me?”

“Sam Winchester,” Amelia says, repeating, “Who is he?”

“Ah. Right.” The archangel relaxes against his boy’s chest. “Sorry. A lot of distraction going on up here,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “But you’re right. Too many tangents.” He slaps a hand against the younger Winchester’s thigh. “Sammy is a hunter. He and his pain-in-the-ass older brother fight monsters.” 

Amelia’s eyes flick in Sam’s direction, but he can’t meet her gaze.

_ she _

**_Blames you._ **

_ you don’t know that _

“He’s pretty good at it too.” Lucifer straightens his collar and fixes the trademark lopsidedness of Castiel’s tie. “Up to a point.”

Sam’s cheeks burn.

_ that’s not fair _

**_Neither is you saying “no”._ **

_ how is that the same _

**_Your body is_** **mine,** ** _bunk buddy, which means_** **I** ** _am_** **_the one who gets to decide what happens to it._**

_ you don’t own me _

**_Don’t I?_ **

“Are  _ you _ a monster?” Jade asks suddenly.

Sam shoots her a warning glance; the last thing they need right now is for Lucifer to show his true colours. The less the family knows about him, the better.

The archangel smiles gently. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I’m not a monster. To be honest, I’m actually kind of the opposite, wouldn’t you say, Sam?”

_ that’s not funny _

**_Perspective, babe._ **

Sliding forward, Lucifer rests his arms on the table, prompting Sam to give a light sigh. With his shame no longer digging into the archangel’s ass, he feels he can finally breathe again. 

“Do you kids go to Sunday school?” Lucifer asks, staring directly at Jade. 

The girl furrows her brow, obviously confused. Her eyes for a moment are back on the younger Winchester, again as though asking for help.

_ I’m sorry,  _ Sam mouths faintly.

Jade offers no response, just turns back to Lucifer and answers, “Every week.”

The archangel purses his lips. “You ever learn about angels?”

_ crap _

**_It’s good to see you’re finally catching on._ **

Jade nods, looking remarkably calm. 

**_Shock does wonders._ **

“And?” Lucifer prompts aloud.

Ally shifts in Jade’s arms and quietly answers for her: “They’re beautiful.”

“Ha!” The archangel claps his hands together, a huge smile on his face. “You hear that, bunk buddy?” He slides back onto Sam’s lap and his boy winces, but Lucifer doesn’t even notice, so happy is he. “They think I’m beautiful.”

Amelia scoffs, but he doesn’t respond to her either. She ought to thank God for that; Lucifer doesn’t take mockery lightly.  _ “You’re _ an angel?”

The archangel crosses his arms. “You don’t believe me?”

“I thought angels were supposed to be guardians,” Amelia says, her voice ripe with aggravation. “Fluffy wings, halos…” 

_this_ _isn’t going to end well_

Lucifer’s grin grows wider at the thought.

She taps a nail against her knife. “Not dicks.”

While the word flies over the heads of the two youngest children, Jade understands it completely; she looks to her mother, surprised at her language.

The archangel himself laughs, and it doesn’t take a lot of thought to figure out why. “Oh, come on, Sam,” he says, seeing the glare on his boy’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re not thinking it: who does she sound like?”

Jaw clenched, the younger Winchester tries to push his brother’s name from his mind. He can’t reminisce, not now. The more he thinks about  _ dean dean dean dean _ the more likely he is to break.

Lucifer raises his hands as though in surrender. "No, you’re right. Business first.” He winks at his boy. “Then pleasure.”

A small growl slips through Sam’s lips but, before the archangel can retaliate, Ally’s tiny voice wafts across the table. 

Her face is buried in Jade’s dark hair, so the words are unintelligible, but curiosity diverts Lucifer’s attention away from Sam. 

“What was that?” He asks, looking from Ally to Jade after the former ducks her head. 

Jade hesitates; the reality of her situation is finally beginning to settle in. Then she notices the way Sam gasps as the coarse rope tightens around his neck, and she responds immediately. “She said she thought angels had wings.”

Lucifer clicks his tongue, chiding the girl. “Of course we have wings, Jade. But you can only see them when we want you to.”

Amelia speaks sharply from across the room: “Prove it.”

Chuckling, the archangel pushes off of Sam’s lap, fingers one last time brushing across his boy’s knee. He takes his place at his end of the table and bows in mock reverence. “As you wish, my dear.” His eyes flick red and the house begins to shake. “As you wish.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Janus.

The lights flicker, bulbs bursting as thunder roars above them. The foundation shifts and it’s only out of shock that the children fail to cry out.

Sam watches as the floor ripples and cracks beneath his feet, shooting splinters into his skin, but he doesn’t even flinch. All of the breath is gone from his lungs as he prepares himself for a spectacle he’s not seen in five years. He can feel Lucifer’s eyes on him just as the archangel’s wings begin to expand, flooding not just the room, but the entire house, with light.

Sam can see the family struggle to keep their eyes open, so desperate are they to catch a glimpse of the angel in all of his glory, but they can barely hold their gazes on him for more than a few seconds without feeling as though they’ve gone blind.

In The Cage, it was like this for years, with Sam unable to tell when the angel was going to attack until Lucifer was already on top of him. Eventually Sam’s eyes began to adjust and, to his great chagrin, the only word he could find to accurately describe the celestial being was “beautiful”, and even that was an understatement.

Lucifer, even when his first vessel found itself bursting at the seams, is the epitome of absolute power and savage grace. Though the family is incapable of seeing the archangel, this image is projected loud and clear. He looks exactly how they believe an angel would look, and more.

And that’s what scares Sam the most; how is he to paint Lucifer as a figure of horror if he doesn’t appear to look anything like the devil?

The wings themselves are flawless, the pristine white interrupted only by barely perceptible pink flecks that dot each of the feathers. At the beginning of their time in The Cage, Michael would mock his brother for this, calling them “accurately and unapologetically feminine”. Needless to say, that didn’t go over well with Lucifer. Add that to the fact that Lucifer was in his element and Michael was the foreigner, the latter angel didn’t stand a chance. Lucifer wasn’t lying when he said that Michael was “sitting in a corner, singing show tunes, and touching himself.” Celestial being or not, Michael broke far sooner than Sam.

Lucifer smiles through the harsh light, and the wings extend even further. As enormous as his brothers’ wings are, they are nothing in comparison to his own. They seem to fill up the entire room, but no one feels crushed or claustrophobic. The feathers press against the walls, purposely keeping away from the humans. If even one were to glance across a person’s skin, their body would be sliced in two.

Readjusting his stance, Lucifer suddenly tenses up. Sam is the only one in the room who notices how he locks his jaw, how he declines to open his wings all the way. Sam is also the only one in the room who truly knows why he is doing this: the archangel is in pain.

When Lucifer shows his wings, he only allows people to witness them straight-on. Aside from a few select angels, Sam is the only one who has ever seen them from the back. Lucifer knows that if his self-titled “Lucifans” (he never really liked the word "satanists") were to catch a glimpse of him from that angle, all of their adoration for him would disappear in an instant.

The Big Guy in the Sky molded Lucifer with perfection in mind, bathing every one of his feathers in grace and taking care to paint them that beautiful, innocent white. Eons later, at the creation of Man, jealousy overtook Lucifer and he immediately lashed out. He was forced out of the family he betrayed, and that was when it happened.

Lucifer fell, and those perfect wings caught fire.

Roaring in pain, he wrapped himself in a cocoon, shielding his body while the outside feathers burned.

When he landed, and the flames finally went out, Lucifer was relieved to find himself unharmed. He tried to stretch out his cramped wings and immediately collapsed, a scream in his throat.

While a cursory glance will show him to be the flawless being he was in Heaven, a glimpse of his back will provoke a far different response than the love he used to receive.

Lucifer’s wings are charred black, the stiff feathers existing somewhere between life and death. He can move about as freely as he wants when they are tucked away, but expanding them even a little bit means that he must remain completely still, unless he wants to revisit the agony he felt during The Fall.

Though he spent eons attempting to adjust to the feeling while in The Cage, there is no escaping that pain, not ever.

So, before he puts on a show, he weighs the benefits. And from the look of desperation on Sam’s face and the absolute awe on those of the family, he’s positive he made the right choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this was definitely one of the more difficult things to write. Lucifer's wings have been described anywhere from a brilliant white to a hot pink (bless Mark Pellegrino). I loved both, so I made them mostly white when little smatters of pink. The charred wings are basically a physical parallel of Lucifer's existence: from the perspective of someone standing in front of him, they are bright and beautiful, the absolute epitome of flawlessness; but when he turns his back, the dark - his real self - is revealed.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The frenemy of my enefriend is my frenendemiend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. Scenes with Dean aren't as fun. But if I don't include him, how will I tie it all together?

“You could’ve called me.”

Billie is standing at the very front of the church, on the stage next to a tall, wooden podium.

“Oh yeah?” Dean looks at her, eyebrows raised. “You sayin’ you would’ve just... shown up?”

The reaper slips her hands into her pockets and turns away.

Dean settles back into the pew. “That’s what I thought.”

Billie has changed since the last time they met. Her wary eyes are tinged red and, though she easily outmatches most beings, she has chosen to forgo antagonism and has instead adopted a more defensive stance; to say she looks exhausted would be a gross understatement. She’s pointlessly exchanged her brown leather jacket for one that’s jet black, as though her clothes weren’t dark enough to begin with. Billie’s in hiding, that much is obvious. The question is if someone is looking for her, or if she’s just trying to stay out of everyone’s way.

She slowly skirts the edges of the trap Dean spray-painted on the church floor. “Why am I here?” she asks.

“Don’t you dare play dumb with me, not now,” the older Winchester snaps. “You know exactly why.”

“Yeah.” A grim smile flits across Billie’s face. “I know that Lucifer escaped. I know that Castiel is the one responsible. I know that he took over hell, that he’s trying to take over heaven. I know that he manipulated you, made you think he was your friend.” Her eyes wash gently over Dean’s face. “I also know that he took Sam.”

Dean shifts his position, uncomfortable under her gaze. “You know where he is?”

“Sam?” Billie sighs. “He’s been warded, Dean.”

“But can’t you---”

“Lucifer is one of the most powerful of God’s creations. Unless you’ve got the big man hidden in your back pocket, there’s no way to track him.”

“Alright.” The older Winchester clears his throat. “Alright.”

Billie watches him for a moment. “What’s the real reason you asked me here?” she says softly.

Dean stands, unconsciously tightening his grip on Ruby’s knife. He’s not put it down since he summoned that first demon nearly five hours ago; it’s possible he doesn’t even know he’s still holding it.

“Dean?”

The older Winchester shakes his head, refocusing. “Hell,” he says finally. “I need you--- I need you to smuggle me into hell.”

A sense of unease settles in Billie’s stomach. “Yeah, uh…” She takes a step back. “Not quite what I was expecting. At all.” A deep breath. “Why do you want to go back? You didn’t seem to enjoy it all that much last time.”

“Crowley.” Dean taps the blade against his thigh. “He’s locked up down there but, uh, according to the last asswipe I talked to, Lucifer kept him close. So he might know---”

“You know he won’t.”

“That’s not true. Lucifer could’ve---”

“Told him?” Billie smiles, this time a bit amused. “The devil may be cocky, but he’s no idiot.” She clicks her tongue. “You’re not going to ask Crowley where Sam is; you’re going to ask him to help you find him.”

Dean locks his jaw. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because he’s your friend.”

The older Winchester tries a laugh, but he’s too tense; the sound barely makes it past his throat. “You’re an idiot if you think I’m gonna trust that son of a bitch to---”

Billie interrupts him again: “You _shouldn’t_ trust him. You _shouldn’t_ . Times like these, trusting _anyone_ seems like a bad decision, don’t you think?”

“Then why---”

“Because you _do_ . You _do_ trust him. Not often, but you do, especially when it comes to finding your brother. You boys have gotten the point where bargaining isn’t even an option. You just help each other, because…” She sighs. “Because you know it works.”

Dean looks away. “That’s bullshit,” he says, but his voice lacks conviction.

“Then tell me again.” The reaper watches as his shoulders sag. “Tell me again why you want to meet with Crowley.”

The older Winchester’s eyes are on the floor as he turns back around. “Just take me,” he says quietly. “Please.”

Billie looks at him, pity coloring her face. Then she holds her arm out. “I wish you luck.”

Dean takes her hand.

The reaper swallows hard and tightens her grip. “You’re gonna need it.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'd think by now Sam would know when to stop talking.

“Oh my God.”

Lucifer retracts his wings. “Thanks,” he says, flashing Amelia a smile. “I mean, that’s not my name, but I think I can swing it.” He glances towards the children, but they don’t say a word. They’re just staring, taking him in, as though he might disappear and they’ll never see him again.

_if only_

But Sam can hardly blame them. Angels as a species are beautiful in their true forms; archangels, however, take it to a whole new level. Gabriel, Michael, Raphael… they were gorgeous creatures. Yet they never came close to Lucifer.

 **_My, oh, my, the compliments are just_ ** **flying** **_today._ **

Sam’s chair creaks as he flexes against the ropes. “I’m going to get out of here,” he says, voice low. “And when I do, I’m gonna---”

“Kill me?” Lucifer sighs. “You know what, I think you’ve reached your threat quotient for the day.”

“Listen, asshole---”

The archangel lays a hand on the younger Winchester’s shoulder. “Alright, Sam, look. As much as I’m enjoying this, I do have guests to entertain.”

“You don’t care about them,” Sam scoffs. “This is just a show you’re putting on in an attempt to make me say “yes”.”

“Contrary to popular belief, _Sam Winchester,_ ” he says, grip tightening at the name, “you are not the center of my universe.”

“No. You’ve reserved that place for yourself.”

A loud hiss leaks from between Lucifer’s lips as he begins to raise a hand, but Ally’s voice stops him once more.

“Which one are you?” she asks, completely unaware of the punishment she helped Sam narrowly avoid.

**_The amount of times she’s saved your ass today..._ **

Lucifer turns towards her, face void of everything but curiosity. “Which angel, you mean?”

The little girl nods.

“Well, uh…” The archangel glances down at himself, as though affirming what form he’s in. “I guess you can call me Castiel.” He pauses, then adds, “Or Cas. I think I prefer Cas.”

“No.”

Lucifer blinks. For a moment he is silent, not quite sure how to respond. Finally, he turns towards Sam. “Excuse me?” he says, voice uncomprehending.

“No,” the younger Winchester repeats, shaking his head. “No, no, you do _not_ get to use that name.”

The archangel gives a sharp laugh as he gestures to himself. “Have you _seen_ me?”

Sam can hear the warning in his words, but he just pushes it aside. “Yeah, you have his body. But that name isn’t yours to take.”

Lucifer crosses his arms. “And why not?”

“Because that guy?” Sam starts, his green locked on Cas’ blue. “That guy you’ve got stuffed way in the back of your head? He’s my friend. And he is a _thousand_ times the angel you are.”

The archangel furrows his brow in mock confusion. “Not a million?”

Anger roiling in his stomach, Sam looks towards the family. “Lucifer,” he says without hesitation. “His name is Lucifer.”

Blood erases the white of the archangel’s eyes.

**_You stupid bitch._ **

Then Lucifer snaps his fingers, and Sam’s entire world goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally have the entirety of this second book outlined (and a few chapters of the third, oh boy); I just have to write it.  
> Midterms are ongoing, but I'll keep writing as much as I can. Luckily, with all the holiday breaks coming up, I'll definitely be able to finish it a hell of a lot quicker.  
> We've only got about seven chapters left. Let's see what the boys can accomplish in such a small amount of time.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's got cute hair, loves dogs, and has a boatload of traumatic memories?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this one is probably going to be difficult to understand, so refer to the notes at the bottom if it gets confusing.  
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask.

Concerning his hallucinations, Sam’s first and only breakthrough occurred in a building near Sioux Falls. There were leviathans living there, Dean told him, including those that had slaughtered that swim team and tried to kill Jody. This was the first real lead they got in the case, and Sam wasn’t about to stay behind just because of a few flashbacks. It’s not like he didn’t have them under control. He had a minor setback, so what? And Dean needed him on this, no matter how much he tried to convince him otherwise.

Sam is back there now, in Sioux Falls.

He’s sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala, barely listening to his brother as they pull into a parking lot. He can feel the cold, leather seats through his jeans, and it’s while he’s trying the find a better position that he feels a shiver run down his spine.

_I shouldn’t be here_

He glances over at Dean, but he’s already left the car. Sam opens his own door and steps out onto the concrete, keys in hand. He starts to ask a question, but there’s Dean, impatiently waving him on, so he tucks them away and quickly catches up.

_I shouldn’t be here_

Sam doesn’t remember the rest of their walk. He’s just suddenly in the building, the office building, the building he saw the leviathans in, the building that Dean led him to, and inside it is… nothing.

The older Winchester laughs, and Sam takes a small step back, hair standing on end. Something’s wrong.

_I shouldn’t be here_

Sam watches as Dean’s freckled skin slips away, green eyes melting into blue, brown hair now a dirty blonde.

“You poor, clueless son of a bitch.”

Sam takes out his gun and fires, but the angel is already gone. This can’t be real, it can’t.

_I shouldn’t be here_

Can it?

“There’s only one way to figure it out, Sam.”

His voice is like ice water down the younger Winchester’s back, but Sam doesn’t even hesitate. He turns quickly around and aims directly at Lucifer’s face.

**_You’re my bunkmate, buddy._ **

The overwhelming smell of sweat and blood and grime invades Sam’s nostrils as he tries to pull out of the iron grip the archangel has around his throat. The hallway he’s in is swallowed at either end in darkness, with Dean, Cas, and Bobby nowhere to be found.

**_You’re my little bitch, in every sense of the term._ **

Sam’s air is running out and all he can focus on his the hand curled around his neck, but then he hears a loud roar and suddenly he remembers what his friends are doing, he remembers where he is. Dean and Bobby are opening Purgatory to save Cas, but it’s too late; the leviathans have taken control.

“It’s up to you.”

The room widens and Sam is back in the building, his grip on his weapon faltering as he struggles to regain hold of the situation.

_I shouldn’t be here_

Lucifer is right where he was before, standing just a few yards away with that self-righteous grin on his face.

Are they actually in this building? Right now, are they in this building? Or are they in that hallway with a corrupt, stone wall digging into his back?

“It ends when you can’t take it anymore.”

Sam’s mind is racing, trying to understand, but nothing makes sense, nothing.

_I shouldn’t be here_

Is any of this even real?

**_It’s hard to believe you were the guy that saved the world once._ **

Exhaustion pulls at Sam’s eyes, but he can’t sleep, not with the hallucination perched next to his bed. So he just stares at the ceiling, at the walls, at the floor, and all of it is white, every bit of it. A pure, flawless, overwhelming white. He groans as he rolls over, back to the archangel, and pulls at the hospital bracelet, which, God save him, is white as well. Do the doctors actually think that a splash of color is going to make him want to kill himself more than he already does? Besides, wasn’t there a study or something on how certain colors can help with depression? There is a sudden bang and Sam flinches, prompting the hallucination to laugh and throw another firecracker at the ground.

“Wanna point that gun at something useful?”

Lucifer nods at the weapon Sam has wavering between his eyes.

“Try your face.”

He should shoot him. Right now, he should shoot him. But for some reason he can’t work up the courage to pull the trigger.

_I shouldn’t be here_

He’s just too afraid.

**_It wasn’t God inside your head, Sam._ **

Lightning flashes over The Cage, and suddenly Sam goes still. Those visions he was receiving, they had to be from Him, from God, they _had_ to be.

Lucifer smiles.

**_It was me._ **

No, no, it wasn’t, it _wasn’t_. It doesn’t matter that he can practically hear the laughter in the angel’s voice; it’s just not possible, it’s not.

“Wanna know the truth?”

Ignoring the gun, Lucifer slowly begins to walk towards Sam. His eyes are locked on the younger Winchester’s face, just watching, waiting for him to react.

But Sam doesn’t, or at least not physically.

_I shouldn’t be here_

He wants to run, but he’s frozen, heart beating so fast and so hard that it hurts, and he’s trying - really, he’s trying - but he just doesn’t understand. There’s just too much going on, too much for him to comprehend, and he can’t explain any of it.

**_He’s not with you._ **

Sam’s fingers brush against the bars of The Cage, fear tickling at his chest. How could he not have seen this coming? He should have planned for it or, at the very least, considered it.

“Wanna skip to the last page of the book?”

The angel is too close now, far too close, and Sam opens his mouth to speak but all he can manage is a few hurried breaths before he lowers his gun and just watches as the distance between them continues to lessen until finally Lucifer stops, barely one foot away.

_I shouldn’t be here_

The angel smiles.

 **_He’s_ ** **never** **_been with you._ **

Shadows play across Lucifer’s face as he moves forwards, the smile gone from his lips. His joy over their reunion has faded and been quickly replaced by a ravenous hunger. He wants Sam, wants to break him, to make him his own. And Lucifer always gets what he wants.

“You know where to aim…”

Lucifer tucks a hand beneath his own chin, pointer finger pressed into the flesh like the muzzle of a gun.

_I shouldn’t be here_

Sam’s eyes are wide and he can’t, he can’t breathe, he can’t.

**_It was always… just… me._ **

Sam shakes his head and shakes it again but the tears are coming now, he can feel them, and Lucifer, Lucifer is going to win, he’s going to win, he always has, and as much as Sam hates it, he’s right: Lucifer is it.

“...Cowboy.”

Lucifer presses his thumb down and makes a small noise, something like the sound of a gunshot.

Sam’s gaze drops to the weapon he holds in his hand.

 _I shouldn’t be here,_ he thinks, and takes a breath.

Then Dean calls out his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick thing I noticed on rewatching 'Hello, Cruel World': After Lucifer tells Sam that he should kill himself, the scene cuts to Dean pulling up to the building. When Dean enters, it cuts back to Sam, who is looking down at that gun as though he is considering doing what the hallucination suggested he do. He's looking at the gun and raising it slightly and the only reason he stops is because Dean calls out his name.  
> \--------  
> Sam is having a flashback (courtesy of Lucifer) and it entails what happened in the episode 'Hello, Cruel World' (S7E2). Sam walks into the abandoned building with "Dean" and soon finds out that he's been tricked by his hallucination of Lucifer. Scattered throughout this flashback are smaller flashbacks, which is where it could get confusing. A helpful hint is that during the main flashback (the one in the abandoned building), Lucifer's words have quotation marks (example: "You poor, clueless son of a bitch"). When Lucifer's words are in bold, that means I'm leading into a smaller flashback. When you see quotation marks again, that means I'm leading back into the bigger flashback.  
> The order of flashbacks is as follows:  
> \- the abandoned building (Hello, Cruel World)  
> \- the hallway in the building where they tried to send the monsters back to purgatory (Hello, Cruel World)  
> \- the abandoned building  
> \- Sam's room in the psychiatric hospital (The Born-Again Identity)  
> \- the abandoned building  
> \- The Cage (O Brother Where Art Thou)  
> \- the abandoned building  
> \- The Cage  
> \- the abandoned building  
> \- The Cage  
> \- the abandoned building  
> \- The Cage  
> \- the abandoned building


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Improvisation.

Sam bursts through the vision with a sharp cry, his face red and streaked with tears. “I’m sorry,” he tries, but the words won’t come.

Lucifer just showed him some of the worst moments of his life, forced him to remake his way through every traumatizing second, and all to punish him for saying the angel’s name. Ironically enough, in any other setting, Lucifer would _praise_ him for being so vocal.

But Sam, he doesn’t need reminding of what happened in that hallway, in that hospital, in The Cage. He doesn’t need reminding of how he almost shot himself while in that abandoned building. He doesn’t need reminding of how fragile he is, how every waking moment over the last five years has been him trying to convince himself that _i’m fine, i’m safe, lucifer is gone and he will_ never _touch me again._

But bound to that chair, he is forced to confront the reality that those phrases, those mantras, those words of hope are a lie. There is nothing he can do, only what Lucifer can do to him.

“I’m sorry,” he tries again. “I’m--- I’m sorry, I didn’t--- I wasn’t---”

“Wasn’t thinking?” Lucifer shakes his head, lips pursed. “No, you most certainly were not.”

_I’m sorry I am please believe me_

**_Then prove it._ **

The archangel takes a step towards him, fingers touching the buckle on Castiel’s belt.

Immediately, Sam’s eyes dart in the direction of the mother, then the children.

_not like that not here not in front of them_

**_What, you don’t think mommy’s told them about the birds and the bees?_ **

Lucifer leans in. “They’ve gotta learn sometime,” he murmurs, and Sam practically recoils in disgust. The angel is sadistic, but this _has_ to be a new low. They’re _kids,_ for God’s sake.

“Hey, dickhead, why don’t you leave him alone?”

Lucifer stops at the sound of Amelia’s voice; Sam barely catches the bit of red that flickers across his eyes.

_no_

The archangel licks his lips. “What did you just say to me?” He asks, voice tight.

_stop talking stop talking please_

But she doesn’t stop, and neither does she lose the cold defiance that drips from her words. “I said, why don’t you leave him alone.” She releases her hold on her wedding ring as she locks eyes with the devil. “Dickhead.”

Lucifer pulls slowly away from Sam. He’s not angry, not yet. But his patience has nearly run its course.

“Please,” the younger Winchester says softly. “Don’t--- don’t hurt her. Please.”

The archangel keeps his gaze on Amelia. “Say another word, Sam, and I’ll rip out your tongue.”

His boy immediately drops into silence, the thought of disobeying Lucifer not even crossing his mind. One syllable and he would find himself choking to death on his own blood.

A smile stretches across Lucifer’s face as he moves away from the mother. “I’m, uh…” He chuckles and thumbs at his nose. “I’m sorry. Did you--- did you _not see_ what I did to your husband?”

To her credit, Amelia doesn’t even glance towards the blood that slathers the walls. She takes a deep breath, reasserting herself. “He’s just a kid.”

The archangel looks over at Sam, then back at the mother; his disbelief could not be more apparent. “A kid?” He asks; then again, louder: “A _kid?”_ He doesn’t wait for a response; one more step and he’s behind Tyler, leaning against his chair. _“He_ is a kid,” Lucifer hisses, then points at Ally and Jade. _“They_ are kids.”

Sam feels the archangel’s eyes glance over him.

_please_

_“Sam Winchester,”_ Lucifer snarls, “is a thirty-three-year-old, mass-murdering _freak.”_

Amelia looks to the hunter, but he immediately drops his gaze.

He wants to tell her to save herself, to save her kids, to _stop defending me,_ that _i’m not worth it._ But he doesn’t, and he can’t decide whether that makes him smart, obedient, or a coward.

Keeping her eyes on Sam, the mother says to Lucifer, “Well, if you're the sort of thing he kills, I’m happy to have him at my table.”

_don’t_

_“Your_ table?” The archangel rubs at his chin. “Okay. This really isn’t the way I wanted all of this to go. I had this whole plan and, I mean, you kind of ruined it.” He waves a dismissive hand. “But hey, that’s fine.”

Sam shifts nervously in his seat.

Lucifer’s voice has begun to settle, his tone much softer than it was moments before. He sounds almost… practical.

_crap_

The archangel shrugs. “I’ll just improvise.” And with a flick of his wrist, Cas’ angel blade is in his hand.

Sam barely notices the fear that flashes across Amelia’s face; his eyes are locked only on the weapon, on the red of his blood that still lingers on the metal.

_please_

Lucifer looks to the younger Winchester. “Time’s up, Sam. Yes or no?”

His boy jerks at the suddenness of the question. “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t know,” he says, the words stumbling over each other. “I don’t know.”

Lucifer cocks his head to one side. “I’m not hearing a “yes”.”

“Hold on,” Sam tries, but he’s floundering. It’s too fast, too fast for him to even decide on an answer. “We can, we can talk about this."

The archangel taps the weapon against Tyler’s chair, lips pursed. “Uh… no.” He swivels the weapon in his hand.

 _“Don’t!”_ Sam shouts, but there’s point.

Lucifer grabs the two-year-old by the hair and drives the blade through the side of his head.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've got balls, kid.

“We’re here.”

Dean opens his eyes and tightens his grip on Ruby’s knife. It’s almost embarrassing, the terror he feels, especially since it isn’t completely due to what is happening to his brother. Hell has always sent chills down his spine, set his teeth on edge. Not that he’d ever admit it, but this place is one of his greatest fears, shrouded only by the sight of hellhounds and the thought of losing Sam.

“Hey.”

Dean turns to Billie, ridding his face of all emotions. He’ll show no weakness, not in front of her.

But the reaper, to his great dismay, looks almost concerned. “You know this is a suicide mission,” she says.

“And you know I don’t give a damn,” the older Winchester fires back.

Billie crosses her arms over her chest. “You love your brother that much?”

Dean doesn’t hesitate for even a second. “More than anything.”

 _And that’s what’s going to get you killed_ , the reaper wants to tell him, but it’s not her job to intervene; it’s to watch and wait for one of them to die, most likely in the other’s arms. So she just offers up a smirk and says, “He’s a lucky guy.”

Both of the Winchesters are usually very perceptive, but it takes Dean a good ten seconds to understand Billie’s comment. And, when he does, his face turns three shades of red.

“Woah!” He says, hands raised. “I didn’t mean it like that!” His voice is far too loud, but the hunter doesn’t even notice, so flustered is he. “We’re just brothers, okay? _Brothers._ That’s all we’ve ever been, all we’ll ever be. I mean...” Dean bites at his lip for a moment, then continues, “It’s not like anything could ever _happen,_ right?”

The reaper raises both eyebrows and, when Dean’s head finally clears enough for him to see her expectant gaze, he scowls, “Shut up,” but she knows he doesn’t really mean it.

In all honestly, she’d be surprised if neither of the boys ever thought of each other in that way. They are the only constant in each other’s lives, the only other person they know without a doubt they can trust. In their darkest hours, both have the assurance that the other will be there, ready to fight - or even to die - for them. Billie has existed long enough to know what people look like when they’re in love, and Sam and Dean are it. They love each other in the same way as Adonis and Aphrodite: with a passion and yearning so strong that even death cannot tear them apart.

Billie looks at Dean for a few more seconds before deciding that she doesn’t want to be here for this. She’ll come for him when he’s ready, but she will not watch him die.

“You’d better get a move-on,” she says, reclaiming her sharp tone. “As much as I’d like the two of you dead, you’re probably the only chance anyone has of beating the devil.”

Dean smiles with a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Well, we’ve done it before, so---”

“Hey, Winchester,” Billie says suddenly.

“Yeah?”

The reaper throws a glance over his shoulder. “You might wanna duck.”

Dean immediately drops into a crouch, the blade intended for him instead slicing through the empty space just above his head. Barely breathing, he swivels on his heels and thrusts the knife up at his attacker. The moment that the blade pierces flesh is the moment he gets himself back. And he is _angry._

He rises slowly to his feet, relishing the demon’s wounded cry as he jerks the knife upwards, gutting it like deer. Light flashes beneath its skin as it dies and Dean pulls back, allowing his victim to fall to the floor.

He feels remarkably calm as he turns to Billie, who takes in his change in demeanor with a jolt of fear.

She’s seen a look like this on just one other being, and that being is the one currently holding Sam captive. The only difference between the hunter and the archangel right now is their motives, and Billie can only hope that this is enough to keep Dean from crossing any sort of line.

“Thanks,” the older Winchester says, and the reaper barely keeps herself from flinching.

“Give ‘em hell, kid,” she says hurriedly, and then she’s gone.

Tapping Ruby’s knife against his thigh, Dean moves back to the demon, and his eyes immediately lock on the weapon still clenched in its hand.

It’s an angel blade.

Dean tucks the demon knife back inside his jacket before picking it up. “Now where did you get this…” He presses his thumb against the point, drawing blood; he studies it for a moment, almost in a daze, and is about to raise his finger to his lips when a door slams. Jumping away from the body, the older Winchester presses himself against the wall and holds his breath. When he hears no footsteps or shouts of alarm, he moves back into the center of the hallway.

“Alright, you sons of bitches,” Dean murmurs. “Let’s do this.”

Touching the angel blade to the wall, he starts forwards, humming softly. The metal screeches as it’s dragged across ruined bricks and, though the sound is like nails on a chalkboard, Dean smiles. Someone is bound to hear, but that’s just what he wants. He is going to open every demon he comes across from balls to brains, and he is going to _enjoy_ it.

Seconds pass and slowly the older Winchester’s humming turns to singing. With what might even be interpreted as a spring in his step, he starts, “About time for anyone telling you off for all your deeds…”

He _tap-taps_ the blade twice against the wall, then continues, “No sign the roaring thunder stopped in cold to read…”

_tap-tap_

“I get mine and make no excuses, waste of precious breath…”

_tap-tap_

“The sun shines on everyone, everyone love yourself to death...”

It’s at a curve in the hall that he pauses, head cocked slightly as he listens for some sign of life. And he isn’t disappointed.

Just a few feet away, Dean hears something take a deep breath, but he doesn’t even allow it the chance to exhale. He reaches around the corner and grabs the demon by the shirt, throwing it across the hall.

It roars furiously as it slams back against the bricks. The moment it sees the hunter, however, every bit of black drains from its eyes. “Wait---” It shouts, but Dean is already there, grabbing it by the jaw and shoving the angel blade through its open mouth and out the back of its head.

_So you gotta fire up…_

The older Winchester jerks the weapon free, allowing the dead creature to collapse.

_You gotta let go…_

Hearing a low growl, he turns around to see another demon just as it catches him by the throat. Far less frightened than its predecessor, the creature tightens its grip, dirty nails digging into the hunter’s skin. It’s only when it notices the wide grin on Dean’s face that it starts to look a bit uneasy. Shifting its stance, the demon hisses, “What’re you smilin’ at?”

_You’ll never be loved ‘til you’ve made your own…_

Without a word, Dean thrusts the weapon forwards, blade burying itself in the creature’s groin.

There is no time for shock; the pain hits it immediately, so hard and so fast that it can’t even scream, the air stolen from its lungs.

_You gotta face up…_

Hands pressed against what’s left of its manhood, the demon stumbles backwards, trying to put some distance between itself and the older Winchester.

Dean doesn’t try to follow it. He waits for it to get a few feet away, then winds the weapon back.

_You gotta get yours…_

He swings the blade in an arc, with just enough force to cut all the way through the demon’s neck. Its head falls to the ground just moments before its body, an expression of terror frozen on its face.

Dean steps away from the bloody mess, voice soft as he turns the corner. “You never know the top ’til you get too low...”

About thirty yards away, the older Winchester can see a set of heavy doors on the left side of the hall. His only hope is that Billie set him down near them because it’s the entrance to the throne room; otherwise, finding Crowley will be far more difficult than he thought.

He moves faster now, feet making almost no sound as he nears his destination. All that now stands between him and his prize is an empty hallway and whatever demons the King of Hell has as his guards.

Dean reaches the archway in seconds, hands immediately finding the large rings that had been installed instead of handles. Crowley could have updated his dwelling to match the times of the rest of the world, but that just wouldn’t be him. No, his aesthetic leans towards that of a medieval variety, with more than a touch of gothic architecture. The red-eyed demon has changed the atmosphere of hell on more than one occasion, but it never lasted for long, and it always reverted right back to this.

With a grunt, the older Winchester shoves the doors open and steps into the room. His hand tenses around the angel blade as he scans for enemies, but the only one that seems to be present is a demon that is sitting sideways on Crowley’s throne, picking at its nails.

At the sound of Dean’s entrance, the creature looks up and, pale as he is on seeing the hunter, gets quickly to his feet.

Dean sighs deeply; he doesn’t have time for this. Raising the weapon, he points it directly at the demon. “I will skin you and wear you as a dress,” he says. “I swear to God.”

The creature furrows its brow, confused, which just frustrates the older Winchester even more.

“Silence of the Lambs?” He tries again, but there’s still no indication that it understands what he’s talking about. “Really? No?”

Shaking its head, the demon raises his shoulders in a shrug.

“Alright, you know what?” Dean takes a step in its direction. “If you _really_ don’t get it, maybe I’ll just show you, how ‘bout that?”

The creature immediately sits back down.

“Thank you,” the hunter says, dropping his arm. “Now, uh…” His gaze flicks about the room once more. “Where’s Crowley?”

“I’m right here, you moron.”

Dean’s head immediately turns towards the gravelly voice, and finally he notices the small body sitting behind one of the throne room’s large columns. “Finally,” he growls, then walks over.

The first thing his eyes lock onto is the chain that binds Crowley to the floor. The second thing he sees is what the other end of the chain is attached to: a collar.

Dean snorts, barely able to keep in a laugh. “Hey,” he says, fighting a smile, “I didn’t know you went for the whole ‘angsty teen’ look.”

Wincing in pain as he leans back against the column, the King of Hell replies, “Neither did I think you went for any music after the year 1970.” He tsks. “‘Imagine Dragons’, Dean? _Really?”_

“You heard that?”

“Everyone within a hundred mile radius heard it,” Crowley says, the words tinged with sarcasm; it seems that prison life hasn’t quite rid him of his sense of humor. “These hallways do in fact cause your voice to echo.” He squints up at the hunter for a moment, then adds, “I hear you’re also a Swiftie.”

The older Winchester goes red for the second time that day. “Who told you?”

“Dean, please,” the demon says condescendingly. “I’ve been inside _both_ your boyfriends. One of them was bound to leak a few secrets. Of course, none were as sweet as I might have hoped.” He cocks his head. “Unless you count the time you and Moose washed the Impala in your birthday suits. Now _that---”_

“Do you wanna get out of here or not?” Dean says quickly. He doesn’t need another confrontation concerning his relationship with Sam. That’s no one’s business but their own, especially since there _is_ no relationship. They’re siblings. Brothers. And so what if they’ve seen each other naked? It’s not like they’ve gone any further than that. Then again, both men appeared to have enjoyed it, or at least that’s what it looked like from the waist down.

“Ahem.”

The older Winchester looks down to see Crowley holding out the chain. Licking his lips, he slips the angel blade inside his jacket and pulls his gun out from the back of his pants. The King of Hell, eyes closed, turns his face as Dean presses the muzzle against the metal links. There is a loud bang when he pulls the trigger, but it gets the job done; Crowley is free. Nodding at the collar still locked around the demon’s neck, he says, “C’mon, we can take care of the choker once we get topside.”

Grimacing, Crowley tries to push himself to his feet. He’s been in a crouching position for God knows how long, and his legs have gone a bit numb, so he’s careful to take his time. There’s no need to go through the embarrassment of collapsing in front of the older Winchester.

“We don’t got all day, sunshine,” Dean says, impatient.

“Just a moment.” A bit longer and the King of Hell is finally in a standing position. He wavers for a second before turning his eyes on the demon sitting on his throne. “That’s _my_ chair,” he says sharply.

The creature flies to its feet. “My king,” it starts, but Crowley doesn’t allow it to finish.

“Piss off,” the King of Hell says and, with a snap of his fingers, the demon goes up in flames. He smiles as he looks back up at Dean. _“Now_ we can go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things:  
> The song Dean is singing is 'I'm So Sorry' by Imagine Dragons.  
> \-----  
> One of Dean's other major fears (even more than hellhounds and hell) is losing control and hurting someone he loves. I didn't list that in this chapter because I don't Dean has quite figured that out yet. He knows the physical things he's afraid of, and he obviously knows that he's afraid of losing Sam. But I don't think he's confronted any fears that aren't tangible. For God's sake, it took him forever to understand and admit (in my writing) that he has PTSD. I suppose we'll just have to give him some time.  
> \-----  
> Also, finals and term papers are coming up for me, so I may not be too active for the next one to two weeks. I'll figure it out.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you want to play a game?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this one up. Finals and term papers and all that. Hopefully I'll be able to grind out another chapter or two before the next semester starts.

Where would Sam be if, eleven years ago, he hadn’t gone with Dean to look for their father? 

If all went well, he might’ve been a hotshot lawyer. He might’ve been married, had kids. Or maybe Azazel still would’ve picked off Jess, and Sam would’ve died where he should have the first time, but alone. 

Either way, he wouldn’t be where he is right now. He wouldn’t be in this house with Lucifer, held hostage with a family unwittingly paying the price for his sins. He wouldn’t be sitting across from a dead two-year-old with an angel blade driven through the side of his head.

Sam watches as the blood  _ drip, drip, drips _ from the wound and onto the little boy’s shirt. He can hear the uneven breathing of the mother, the  _ huh-huh-huh  _ sound of her lungs trying to keep up with the rest of her body, the body of a woman who just lost a child. From the girls there is only silence; just four wide eyes and two pale faces desperate to understand why,  _ why _ is this happening to  _ them? _

“You understand now, Sam?” The archangel taps a finger against the metal hilt, forcing Tyler’s head to nod along with the movement of the blade. “This is the sort of thing that’s going to happen if you don’t listen to me.”

“Better than the whole planet,” Sam says quietly, and he knows without looking that Amelia’s gaze is on him, but he forces away any sort of guilt. There’ll be enough of that before the night is through.

Lucifer leans heavily against the back of Tyler’s chair. “What was that, bunk buddy?” He mockingly cups one ear. “You’re gonna have to speak up.”

Sam clears his throat loudly. Too loud. Fear is like needles in the back of his throat. “The needs of the many,” he says, eyes flicking towards the archangel, “outweigh the needs of the few.”

Eyebrows go up. “Seriously?” Lucifer says, incredulous. “You’re trying to show me you don’t care by using a  _ Star Trek _ reference?” He gestures vaguely. “Right here, right now, that’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Just one more thing.” Sam leans forwards, as much as his bindings will allow, and enunciates a single word: “No.”

The archangel  _ hmms  _ softly, lips pursed. “Alright,” he says after a moment, clicking his teeth. “Guess we’re just gonna have to take it up a notch.”

In one swift movement, he’s pulled Cas’ angel blade from Tyler’s head and shoved the two-year-old aside, sending both the boy and his chair across the room and slamming against the far wall. 

Sam watches as Tyler falls to the ground and, for half a second, he thinks he sees the chubby, little fingers curling into a fist; but the moment vanishes quickly, and he has to remind himself that the small thing sprawled out on the floor is dead. It’s dead, he needs to remember that, and he needs to remember this it is just an “it” now, not a “he” because, once it becomes a “he,” Sam will lose yet another part of himself to Lucifer, and he won’t allow that, he  _ can’t _ allow that. So Tyler becomes another “it” in the long line of “its” Lucifer has killed in Sam’s name. 

But there are still three other people in this room: living, breathing people who are not yet “its,” and Lucifer has the youngest of them clutched to his chest. 

Ally cries for her mother and Sam suddenly realizes the burning of his skin as the ropes tighten around his wrists. He’s straining against them, entire body in a state of panic.

_ don’t do this not to her not to her please _

**_So the boy didn’t matter? Just the girl?_ **

_ that’s not that’s not that’s not what i meant _

**_Of course it isn’t. Now, pay attention, Sam, or you might just lose another one._ **

“Mommy!” Ally screams again, and Lucifer drops the angel blade to her throat.

Sam looks to Amelia, but it’s immediately obvious that she’s not going to be of any help. Her eyes are on her daughter and her mouth is moving at an inexplicable speed, but no sound is coming out.

Ally reaches up to try and push the weapon away, but the archangel just tightens his grip, and it’s at the moment when Sam sees the first bit of blood leaking from beneath the blade that he realizes that it’s up to him to intervene. 

He swallows hard. “Ally?”

The little girl looks to Sam, tears in her eyes. 

“I need you to keep still, alright?” He says gently, driving the fear from his voice. “Can you do that for me?” Ally hesitates, so Sam quickly adds, “Please?”

It takes her another moment, but she finally nods and releases her hold on her captor’s arm; Lucifer, in turn, relaxes his grip.

_ thank you _

“Well,” the archangel grimaces, “we’re not quite done yet.” He takes a breath. “Okay, Sam. Here’s how this is going to work: I’m going to count to ten. You’re going to let me in, or she dies.”

_ you can’t you can’t do this _

**_Watch me._ **

The hunter barely registers how Amelia’s breathing grows even faster; how, even now, she’s incapable of finding words of protest. Instead, he forces himself to concentrate on the little girl in front of him whose renewed cries for her mother are going unanswered.

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” Sam says. “Ally, look at me.”

But she can’t, of course she can’t. She’s six years old; the most frightened she’s ever been is probably whenever her parents have an argument. But this…

Sam tries to catch her gaze. “It’s going to be okay, do you understand?”

Head shaking side-to-side, Ally leans back into Lucifer’s stomach, trying to cocoon herself. 

_ please _

“One.”

Sam’s eyes flick to the archangel. “Look. There’s no reason to hurt her. You’ve got me, do whatever you want to me. Just don’t hurt her.”

Lucifer makes a sucking noise with his teeth. “Two.”

“Listen. Just---” The younger Winchester licks his lips. “Just talk to me. We can talk about this. We can talk.”

“Three.”

Roaring in frustration, Sam jerks furiously against his bonds. The ropes dig into his skin, far harder than before; where there were once just burns, there is now blood. Pain, however, takes a back seat as he pulls at them again. And again and again and again. His chair stutters across the ground and threatens to tip over, but a single glance from Lucifer and the wooden legs sink two inches into the floor. 

Sam grits his teeth. “Alright.”

The archangel looks at him expectantly.

“Alright,” he says again. “Look, I can help you. I can, I can help you.”

Ally whimpers as Lucifer’s fingers tease at her throat. “The way you helped me in the cemetery?” The archangel says thinly. “That way?”

Sam shakes his head. “You put the weapon down. I’m not talking to you like this.”

“That’s your choice. Four.”

Desperation begins to tug at his chest, and it only gets worse when realizes that, aside from his soul, there’s only one other thing with which he can bargain. “I’ll, I’ll do whatever you want.” He takes a deep breath, tries to separate himself from what he’s about to say. “I know what you like. Let her, let her go and, and, and I’ll do it for you right now.”

Annoyance flickers across Lucifer’s face. “I’m not bargaining sex for possession,” he says. “Five.”

“Okay.” The younger Winchester locks his jaw. “Okay, I’ll say “yes.” But you kill her, you do this, you get nothing.”

The archangel “hmms” softly, then: “Six.”

“Are you listening to me?” Sam asks. His voice is doing that thing again, that thing where it gets too high and too loud; and Lucifer, his eyes narrow when he hears it. “The only way you’re going to get what you want,” the younger Winchester continues, “is for you to---”

Ally’s scream cuts him off as Lucifer shoves the angel blade through the top of her shoulder. 

Fury shoots through the hunter’s veins. “You son of a bitch!” He roars.   


“You think I’m playing?” Lucifer barks, face red.  _ “You think I’m playing?” _

Sam’s gaze drops to the six-year-old as she screams a second time, then a third. 

_ “You don’t think I’ll do it?” _

Blood is spreading quickly across Ally’s shirt, almost poetically turning the white a terrible, dark red. 

_ “You know what I want to hear, Sam!” _

The younger Winchester can barely focus, can barely organize his own thoughts over the threats and the screams and the understanding that this is only going to get worse -  _ so, so much worse  _ \- so he reverts his attention back to the person it was on before Lucifer began counting. “Ally,” he starts. “Ally, look at me.”

“Say it!” The archangel barks, not even close to backing off.  _ “Say it!” _

Sam ignores him. “Stay with me,” he tries again, but Ally is too far gone.

_ “Seven!” _

Her wound, it’s not lethal, but mind and logic have both lost their grips; there’s no focusing her, not now.

_ “Seven!” _

“I’m gonna kill you!” Sam shouts. “I  _ swear to God, _ I’m gonna kill you!”

_ “Eight!” _

The younger Winchester drops back. 

There are five stages of death. Numbers one and two - denial and anger - have obviously already run their course. The third is bargaining; or, to put it in terms Sam has become familiar with: begging.

“Please,” he says, the word strained but much quieter than those that came before. “Please don’t do this. Just let her go. I promise you, I promise, I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I’ll---”

“Nine.”

The entire room is silent; even Ally’s cries have ceased. They’re all waiting. Waiting for Sam to make his choice. So he does. And he remains in that third stage of death.

“Listen to me.” His green meets Lucifer’s blue and he keeps their gazes locked; he wants the archangel’s full attention for this. “Listen to me. I’m going to say it; I’m going to say exactly what you want. But you gotta do the right thing. Because, because if you don’t…” He takes a deep breath.

_ forgive me _

“No.” Sam shakes his head, then says it again: “No.”

Lucifer looks at him for a long moment, expressionless. Then his lips part and, once again, there is nothing Sam can do to stop him.

“Ten.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Winds in the east, mist comin' in..."

It’s not quite a nightmare anymore. More of a dream, really. It doesn’t feel real, and nightmares usually do, even after you wake. But dreams, dreams are like a fog, where you - at the very least - have an inkling that something isn’t quite right, that none of it is really possible. And, as morbid as it may sound, that’s exactly how Sam would describe it.

He blinks, trying to refocus, but his ears, they’re not working. All that’s coming through is a high-pitched whine, as if a gun has been fired next to his head. Digging his nails into his palms, the younger Winchester grits his teeth. He can feel it on him, the blood. It coats his face, mostly the left side - the result of him turning away barely moment before Lucifer snapped his fingers.

“I…” he starts, but he doesn’t know what to say. The single word sounds low and blunt; he’s not quite sure if he even spoke it aloud.

The whine turns into a high-pitched cry, and he turns to his right, eyes glossing over Amelia’s tear-streaked face. She would probably scream, if her grief wasn’t layered with a growing, if not belated, fear.

“Yes?”

Sam’s gaze flicks to Lucifer, tongue burning at the bitter taste of the blood that has pooled in his mouth. What he sees is what he should’ve expected, but it isn’t until now that the reality of the situation is beginning to hit him once more.

The archangel is completely slathered in blood. The tan of Castiel’s trench is barely visible, let alone the blue of his crooked tie. The only real contrast anywhere on his body is the pair of crystalline eyes that shine brightly through the red-streaked skin of his boyish face.

Sam opens his mouth, searching for something snarky, something quick-witted, something that proves his defiance, proves that Lucifer is wrong, that he _doesn’t_ have control over him. But all that comes out is a soft “I’m gonna kill you.”

For all the anger he continues to radiate, the archangel allows himself a incredulous snort.

**_Oh dear, is someone scared?_ **

_i’m not scared i’m not_

**_Then what are you?_ **

_prepared to do anything_

**_Prepared to burn? Prepared to do what the old Sam Winchester wouldn’t do?_ **

_anything_

**_Prepared to allow hundreds of other ordinary, little people die because of some misplaced sense of self-righteousness?_ **

_that’s not what this is_

**_Isn’t it?_ **

Sam hesitates; Lucifer smiles.

But the smirk only ghosts across the archangel’s face for half a second. Then he sighs, _tap-tap-tapping_ the flat of the angel blade against his palm. “Look, Sammy. We’ve already been through this. There’s no way---”

“Raphael is dead.” The hunter swallows hard, desperately scrounging together long-lost bits information. “And you killed Gabriel.”

Lucifer flinches. If his face wasn’t coated in blood, Sam would have seen his cheeks flush with both anguish and embarrassment. Unfortunately for the archangel, however, this is not of any comfort. The single tear that cuts through the drying red is plain as day and, in any other setting, Sam might’ve laughed.

If Lucifer notices the hunter’s slight change in demeanor, he doesn’t mention it. “What’s your point?”

“They were archangels,” Sam replies, confusion tinging his features. “So are you.”

Lucifer cocks his head, tongue tracing his upper lip; the hunter realizes in an instant that he made a mistake.

“I, I mean,” Sam stutters, “I just--- I thought---”

Everyone jumps as the archangel slams the blade down on the table. The force with which he does so is considerable; the tip is buried deep into the wood.

“I’m sorry,” Lucifer says, voice far too light. “Do you--- do you see the three of us as equals?”

Sam’s mouth opens, then shuts, then opens again. “Uh… no?”

The archangel takes a deep, over-exaggerated breath. “Let me lay out a little map for you, Sam. Daddy, no matter how big of a dick He is, is at the top of the celestial food chain. Then there’s me, and _then_ there’s my brothers. And if you keep on going---”

“Is it because of your grace?” Sam interrupts, knowing full well that silence would probably be the best route but deciding to take this one anyway.

“What are you talking about?”

The younger Winchester chews on the inside of his cheek. He’s onto something, he knows he is, but what could it---

“Oh,” Sam says suddenly; then again: “Oh.”

Lucifer locks his jaw.

**_Careful._ **

The hunter ignores the unspoken threat. “When Metatron cut Cas’ throat, he took his grace, and Cas---”

**_Don’t you say another word._ **

“Cas became human. And humans…”

The archangels lips curl into a snarl; he knows where the younger Winchester is going with this. “Sam…”

“Humans can be killed.”

Shoes scuff against the hardwood floor as Lucifer takes a step in Sam’s direction. “You think you can beat me?” He asks, voice rough. “You think you can take my grace, turn me into one of you filthy apes? Kill me, even?” He moves even closer, taking in his boy’s defiance with a growing rage. “How long is it going to take you to realize that I’m going to win? I _always_ win. All those eons you spent as my bitch?”

His boy jerks away at the mention of the word, but Lucifer is in his face now, hands on top of his shoulders.

“It’s because I _beat_ you,” the archangel continues. “And it’s going to happen again. I don’t care how many humans I have to go through, and I _certainly_ don’t care how many times you’ll have to take it up that delicious, goddamn ass.”

Sam can feel the heat of his breath against his skin as he tries to slow the beating of his heart. But he can’t, because this is the one thing that will always get to him. No matter how hard he’s tried to drive the fear from his veins, there is always some left over, ready to grow and spread again, like a virus.

The archangel tightens his grip, nails digging deep into the hunter’s skin. “It’s all going to end the same way. You’re going to say ‘yes’. Because I. Always. Wi---”

Lucifer’s voice suddenly cuts off, a gasp of surprise taking its place.

Sam looks up just as he stumbles backwards, watches as his hands go to his throat. A long, sharp piece of metal is protruding from the flesh.

And Sam smiles.

It’s the angel blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stressing over Sherlock and school. Oh, and there's only three chapters left.
> 
> \------------
> 
> Batten down the hatches, my friends. This finale is going to be a big one.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...like something is brewing, about to begin..."

Lucifer is lucky.

Your average angel would be dead by now, yellow-black ashes spread out across the floor in the shape of two grotesque wings. But the blade in Lucifer’s possession is Castiel’s, which means it isn’t of the variety one could use to kill an archangel. And, as it turns out, Castiel is quite lucky as well; with his grace intermingling with that of Lucifer’s, he won’t die unless his roommate does. So, instead of a quick and happy ending for what remains of the humans, Sam finds himself once again in a race against the clock. In the back of his mind, though, he’s actually a little disappointed; he would’ve liked to have a bit more time to enjoy what the blade has actually ended up doing to their captor.

Lucifer is grasping at his throat, trying to stop the blood that spills from the wound, but his hands, they won’t stop shaking. His entire body feels like it’s on fire, and low hiss slips from between clenched teeth as he drops to his knees.

Now Sam is able to see the person responsible, and his eyebrows go up in a sort of admiration. It’s Amelia. And she looks absolutely terrified.

“Hey,” he says. When she doesn’t respond, he repeats himself, but more sharply this time: “ _ Hey.” _

The mother’s gaze immediately locks on Sam’s face. She looks like she’s about to say something, but the hunter decides not to give her the chance. Seventeen seconds have already gone by, seventeen seconds they’ve already lost, thanks to her momentary dissociation.

“Help me?” Sam says expectantly, and finally she begins to move. 

Amelia nods, then nods again, breathing out two “alright”s as she makes her way to the table. She hesitates for only a moment before picking up the large steak knife her husband had been using to serve up dinner just two hours earlier. One awkward smile at Sam and then she’s kneeling down in front of him, trying her hardest to keep the blade from cutting into his calf as she gets to work on the ropes around his ankles.

Sam does his best to relax his muscles, but it’s unbelievably difficult. His eyes are locked on the archangel who, _oh_ _thank God,_ is still on the ground. 

**_Y-y-you’re gon-gon-gonna pay f-for th-th-this._ **

_ well isn’t that a coincidence, i was just thinking the same thing _

Lucifer tries for a growl, but more blood just bubbles to the surface.

Smiling with a completely justified amount of joy, Sam looks down at Amelia as his legs are finally freed. The mother quickly gets back to her feet and repeats the task, this time on his wrists. “You’re doing great,” he says quietly, and he feels her nod for what seems like the eighty-sixth time tonight. 

Moments later, Sam’s arms are released from their bonds as well, and the first thing he does is grab at the rope around his neck. Even though it isn't that tight, he feels almost claustrophobic. “G-get it off me,” he says, the words coming out like he’s gasping for air. “Get it, get it off me.”

“Right,” Amelia nods -  _ oh for god’s sake -  _ and presses the serrated edge of the knife against the rope. Sam winces and, as soon as she sees it, she tucks the blade beneath the bond instead. But it digs into his skin once more, which prompts her to drop back and look at him desperately. “I can’t do it,” she says. “I can’t, it’s too tight.”

Sam grits his teeth. Perhaps it’s unfair for him to irritated with her; this entire thing is, after all,

_ my fault _

“Here,” he says, gesturing, and the mother, with absolutely no hesitation, gives him the knife. He swallows hard and tilts back his head, providing him with just enough space to hold the rope away from his throat with one hand and saw his way through it with the other. 

Amelia watches him as he works, expression a bit more hopeful when he finally frees himself. 

The moment Sam gets to his feet, however, is the moment her head jerks forcibly to one side, every bone in her neck snapping in two.  _ “No!”  _ The hunter shouts in horror, but his cry is drowned out by Jade’s scream of anguish as her mother falls to the floor, dead. 

Lucifer, paler than ever, drops the offending hand. The rage is slipping from his expression, but it’s not because he’s any less angry; he’s beginning to redirect every bit of that much-needed energy into staying conscious.

Sam keeps his eyes on him as he steps over Amelia’s body, calling back the words the archangel spoke to him earlier  **_focus, sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus_ ** and repeating them to himself in Lucifer’s voice. If anything is going to make him move faster, it’s pretending that the orders are coming from the archangel’s mouth.

And so he does move faster, but not before planting one bare foot on the ground and using the other to kick Lucifer in the face.

Tears prick the archangel’s eyes as he rocks back on his heels, hands pressed against the bloody mess that used to be his nose. Curling in on himself, he makes a sort of gasping noise, completely unaware that Sam has slipped past him until it’s too late to do anything about it.

The hunter doesn’t glance back at him for even a second, running those words through his head once more  **_focus, sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus_ ** as he slides his hands underneath Jade’s armpits and lifts her out of her seat. The girl presses her face into Sam’s shoulder, tiny body shaking as she continues to cry. Sam grips her tighter.

Turning back around, Sam’s gaze centers on the weapon that is still embedded in the archangel’s throat. Again he hears  **_focus, sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus_ ** and immediately slams his foot down on Lucifer’s back, knocking the archangel flat on his stomach. Free hand grabbing at the pommel, he tears the blade from his neck and, finally,

_ finally _

Lucifer is the one doing the screaming.

Sam races to the front door, catching one last glimpse of the angel and the grace that slips even faster from the marred flesh. But this attempt, this route he’s chosen to take, it’s unbelievably stupid; unfortunately for the hunter, he doesn’t come across this extremely important fact until after he’s begun jiggling the handle. It’s locked, of  _ course  _ it’s locked. “No, no, no, no, no,” the words stumble from his lips as desperation begins to seep back in.

_ stupid stupid stupid _

He turns back around just as Lucifer begins pushes himself to his feet, using the table as leverage. He freezes for a moment, unsure as to what he should do, where he should go. There are definitely other doors in the house but, odds are, the archangel has them locked up tight as well. In addition, he doesn’t know a single thing about the layout, how big the house is or places he can hide without being cornered. But does any of that even matter if he can’t get outside? The hunter locks his jaw, trying to think, trying to  **_focus, sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus_ ** and, suddenly, he’s got an idea. There was a phone in the bedroom he was in earlier. He can use it to call Dean, and Dean, he can get them out of here, right? Either way, it’s his only shot. And so, with Jade’s arms wrapped around his neck, he tightens his grip on the angel blade and runs up the stairs, taking them three at a time.

Lucifer watches as they disappear from sight, one hand pressed firmly against his throat. Anger courses through him, every bit of red returning to his face and eyes; all of his lost energy and grace is slipping back into his body as the wound closes up. Flesh and bone blend together at an incredible speed, and he cries out one final time, both in agony and in pure, unadulterated rage. He finally drops his arm, all that remains of the hole now a thick, white scar; he probably would never be rid of it but, in this moment, he couldn’t care less about the way he looks. Shrugging off Cas’ trenchcoat, he allows it to fall to the floor as he heads for the stairs.

Sam swallows hard; he can hear him coming, can hear his heavy footsteps as he moves slowly towards the second floor. 

_ go go go _

Darting quickly into the familiar room, the hunter immediately directs his sights on the phone that sits on the side-table next to the bed. 

_ faster faster faster _

He retrieves it quickly, then drops to the floor and slides under the bed, keeping Jade on his left, as far away from the doorway as possible. 

To be honest, he’s more afraid for himself than he is for her. And he would hate himself for that, but he’s too tired, too tired to worry about anyone else. Lucifer would kill her, yes; but for Sam, the torture would only be prolonged, as well as greatly increased, considering what just happened. Amelia attacking the archangel may not have been Sam’s fault, but Lucifer won’t see it that way. Everything -  _ absolutely everything  _ \- is on the hunter, and there will be no forgiving him for this. That’s why Sam is keeping himself closer to the room’s entrance; maybe, just maybe, if the archangel sees him first, he’ll be too angry to stop himself from killing the younger Winchester. But that thinking, it’s based off of hope, and God knows how well that’s worked out for him in the past.

The floor creaks and Sam freezes, eyes locked on the hallway. After a couple of seconds, Lucifer’s shoes step into view, and that’s the moment when Jade decides to release a small whimper. The feet stop moving and a wave of fear crashes down on the hunter as he claps a hand over the little girl’s mouth.

_ no no no no no no no _

Jade sniffs against his palm, and suddenly his fingers feel sticky, but there’s no time to worry about it now, no time to feel disgust towards a child who can’t help it because  _ goddammit _ her entire family was just slaughtered in front of her and  **_focus, sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus_ ** the voice growls, angry at him, angry at  _ himself _ for taking his eyes off of the one being who, in this moment, is actually worthy of his attention.

He looks to the doorway again, but  _ shit shit shit  _ the shoes are gone. 

_ where is he where is he where is he _

Releasing his hold on Jade, Sam rolls away from her, gaze locked on the empty space as he considers getting up and taking a look around. It’s an idiotic thought, of course, but how else is he supposed to

_ the phone _

He whispers a curse, practically kicking himself. And then, for the last time  **_focus, sammy, you’re no good to anyone if you don’t focus_ ** threads its way through his mind, and he turns on the phone and dials. It rings once, then again, then again and again and again, and all he can do is tighten his grip as he waits for what will most likely end up being nothing but the message he himself recorded after the whole “Sam is waxing, like, everything” debacle. It’s not his best work, but the younger Winchester is actually kind of pleased with the voicemail: “Dean can’t come to the phone right now because he’s trying to suck his own dick. Leave a message and he’ll get back to you as soon as his broken neck has healed.” It isn’t very creative, but it certainly is colorful, and the older Winchester hasn’t changed it since he found out about it six weeks ago, so it’s safe to say he was a little impressed.

“Sam?”

The hunter’s breathing hitches at the sound of his brother’s voice. “Dean,” he says, the beginning of a smile pulling at his lips. “It’s me, it’s me, I’m here.”

“Oh God.” A relieved sigh. “Okay, are you alright?”

“I’m---” Sam pauses, not quite sure what to say. If he reveals too much, Dean will get reckless; if he reveals too little, Dean will know that he’s lying. He licks his lips, finally deciding that he really doesn’t care. He just wants out of here, and telling the truth will only distract his brother. “I’m fine,” he says.

“Sammy---”

“Hey, listen, can you do something for me?” The younger Winchester won’t allow them to get into this, not now. 

Even though he tries to hide it, Dean’s annoyance and desperation are presenting themselves loud and clear; Sam can hear it as he replies, “Name it.”

“I don’t know where I am, so I need you to track this call.”

Dean drops into silence, throat making a wet sound as he swallows once, then twice. “Sam, I--- I don’t know how to do that.”

Panic tickles the younger Winchester’s chest. “I taught you, remember?”

“I’ve never---” He softens his voice, embarrassed. “I’ve never done it by myself, and---”

An extremely loud, over-exaggerated sigh drowns out whatever other words Dean hoped to say, and Sam’s smile grows a little bigger. “Is that… Crowley?”

“...no?”

Sam blows air out of his nose in a sort of stifled laugh. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “You can use him.”

_ “Use  _ me?” Crowley’s voice screeches angrily, and Sam makes a  _ pfft  _ sound as he hears a thump, a cry of protest, and his brother say “Well, I wouldn’t have to smack you if you’d just shut the hell up.” 

The demon grumbles a response, but Dean ignores him and refocuses on Sam. “Look---” he starts, but he isn’t allowed to finish.

“You can do this, Dean,” Sam says. “You  _ have _ to do this.”

Both men seem to be holding their breath, the younger one with anxious curses flying through his head until the older one finally speaks. “Alright.”

Sam gives a sigh of relief. 

_ thank you thank you thank you _

“Hurry up, okay?” He says aloud. “I’m safe for now, but Lucifer is gonna find us eventually, and--”

“Hold on a second. “Us”?”

Dean can’t see him, but Sam nods anyway as he turns back in Jade’s direction. “Yeah, I’ve got a little girl with me, she’s---”

He suddenly cuts himself off, barely able to contain his scream.

_ oh god oh god oh god oh _

Jade is lying right where he left her, but all he sees is the blood. It’s like something out of a horror movie, with every bit of her clothes, her hair, her skin layered in thick red gore and

_ god _

he finally sees where some of it’s coming from.

Her mouth has been sliced open from ear to ear, flesh scraped back to the point where she looks like one of those titans from that manga Dean pretends he doesn’t like. The top of her head is also gone, a clean cut that ends just above her eyebrows. Grey-pink matter slips from the gruesome wound, and it’s all Sam can do not to vomit. The last thing he notices are her eyes; or, to be more accurate, their now-empty sockets. 

Dean is shouting on the other end of the line, shouting his name, shouting for him to let him know that he’s alright.

But Sam doesn’t hear him, doesn’t hear anything but the  _ thump-thump-thump  _ of his heart as he scrambles out from under the four-poster, frantically clutching both phone and angel blade to his chest as he gets to his feet and

_ no _

Lucifer is standing on the other side of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two more to go...


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...can't put my finger on what lies in store..."

Sam opens his mouth but, before he can speak even one syllable, the archangel has snapped the phone and the angle blade out of the hunter’s hands and into his own.

_it’s not fair_

The younger Winchester shakes his head, but that’s all he can think, that’s all that comes to mind, those three juvenile words.

_it’s not fair it’s not fair it’s not_

**_Well, isn’t that a coincidence._ **

Lucifer’s voice is like a scream, tearing its way through every bone, every muscle, every fiber of his being, and what makes it even worse is that Sam knows that this is only the start of what’s to come.

**_I was just thinking the same thing._ **

Clearing his throat, the archangel puts the phone on speaker and raises it to his mouth. “Hello, Dean,” he says in Castiel’s low, gravelly tone.

Sam winces at the mockery he’s making of their friend, but he can only imagine how Dean feels. His brother and Cas are close enough that it’s possible that the former doesn’t blame the latter at all. He might even feel disappointment with Sam; the disgusted look on his face when Sam called out Lucifer’s name in the bunker is evidence enough.

There is a moment of silence, then: “What did you do to him.” Dean’s words, they’re not a question, but a threat.

 _“Do_ to him?” Lucifer drops the fake voice. “I’ve done _nothing_ to him. The more accurate question would be what has _he_ done to _me?”_

“What are you talkin’ about?”

“He put a hole in my throat, Dean-o. Shoved your boyfriend’s blade clean through the back of my neck.”

“That’s wasn’t---” Sam starts, but Lucifer raises one finger and his boy quickly shuts up.

“Why are you telling me this?” The older Winchester says, words going up an octave.

“Because then,” the archangel replies, “maybe it’ll be easier to accept what’s about to happen.”

Sam’s thoughts fly to the only viable conclusion Lucifer is coming to, but Dean, Dean makes the error in saying it out loud.

“You’re going to--- you’re going to rape him.”

Lucifer looks Sam dead in the eyes; this conversation is just as much for his boy’s benefit as it is for Dean’s. “Fuck him?” he says, deliberately changing the word. “No… don’t be obvious. I mean, I’m gonna fuck him anyway, and soon. I don’t wanna rush it, though. No, no, no, no, no,” he tuts. “I’m saving it up for something special.” The archangel’s gaze washes over Sam’s quivering form. “But would you like to know what I’m going to do to him in the meantime?”

“Lucifer---” Dean starts, but he is immediately cut off.

“We’re in a bedroom right now, a really big one, actually.” The archangel takes stock of his surroundings, lips pursed. “The bed is… what would you say, Sam? King-size?” He pauses a moment but, when Sam doesn’t reply, he continues, “I’m waiting for an answer, bunk buddy.”

“I think---” his boy says, voice cracking. “I think so.”

“Good.” Lucifer smiles. “Now. In the side table there is a pair of handcuffs.” He gestures expectantly. “Would you mind?”

Sam’s throat goes tight. This can’t be happening, this can’t, not again. “W-what?”

“Handcuffs.” The archangel’s voice is slow, mocking. “Top drawer. Get them.”

The younger Winchester’s hesitation lasts for barely a second, the slight tilt of Lucifer’s head prompting a nod and frightened obedience.

_no no this can’t it can’t you can’t you can’t you can’t_

His trip is far shorter than he ever could have wanted, but there can be no second-guessing; he got himself into this mess and, if he doesn’t go along with it, it will only be all the worse for him. He takes the handle in his grasp and pulls the drawer open. And what he sees sends his terror soaring to new heights. Aside from the handcuffs, there are also two whips: one a short riding crop, and the other with at least a dozen thick straps on the offending end. He averts his eyes, but the image sticks in his mind; he even feels a flash of pain as his fingers brush against the leather. Quickly, he pulls the manacles out and slams the drawer shut.

_he wouldn’t he wouldn’t he won’t_

But Sam knows that he will, he knows that he _will_ use them, and God knows what else. He turns back to Lucifer, hands shaking so badly that it’s a miracle he doesn’t drop the metal cuffs.

The archangel takes a deep breath, red eyes flicking back to Cas’ blue, which, in the younger Winchester’s opinion, just makes it all the worse. Because, as hard as he might try, Sam no longer sees Nick, he no longer sees Lucifer; he sees his friend. And his mind, his mind struggles to remember that Cas is being possessed, that none of it is him. But that brown hair and boyish face make it difficult to separate the two.

Once this happens, there will be no going back to the way things once were. The coming image of his friend leaning over him, kissing him, _tearing him apart_ will overshadow all of the times they’ve spent together, all of the good they’ve done in the world. After tonight, he will never be able to look at Cas again without an enormous amount of fear. He can only hope that Dean will be able to forgive him for that.

“Sam, did you hear me?”

The younger Winchester ignores him, eyes on the floor, not willing to come back to reality just yet.

“Sam.”

His gaze catches on his toes. He didn’t notice it before, but there’s blood blossoming beneath the nails.

**_Sam._ **

A searing pain rips through his gut and he buckles over, a scream in his throat. _“God!”_

 **_Isn’t here right now, so_ ** **listen.**

“What?” Sam hisses, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “What do you want?”

“What I _want_ ,” Lucifer growls, “is for you to get on the bed.”

The hunter takes a step back, one hand still pressed against his abdomen. “No, wait, please---”

Dean’s voice comes over the line, voice strained. “Sammy---”

“Oh no, no, no,” the archangel tsks. “Don’t be difficult. If you don’t do it, _I will.”_

Sam blinks and nods, then nods again. “Okay,” he says after a moment. “O-okay.”

“Don’t you do this,” his brother growls, but the antagonism is gone from his voice. He is hundreds of miles away and yet he can feel Sam’s fear as if they were in the same room. “Don’t you dare.”

Tapping the angel blade against his leg, Lucifer asks, “Or what?”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

A short laugh. “Do you guys have, like, telepathy or something because, I mean, you two are _freakishly_ synced up.”

“Lucifer---”

“Oh, look,” the archangel says over him, attention flicking back to Sam. “Look at what a good, little boy your baby brother is. Right on the bed, just like I asked.”

Sam swallows hard, entire body absolutely numb. He tries to make his mind go blank as well, but he knows that there isn’t nearly enough time to accomplish that before it all begins.

“Go on, partner.” Lucifer waves the weapon expectantly. “You know what comes next.”

Breathing shallow, the younger Winchester slides over until he is in the middle of the bed, head resting stiffly on two of the pillows. Slowly he clicks the cuffs onto his right wrist, any of his remaining defiance and hope gone the moment it locks. Raising both arms, he slides the chain through the slats of the headboard, then closes the other manacle around his left wrist. He’s open now, open to whatever Lucifer decides to do to him. The archangel usually likes it when all of his limbs are free because, in The Cage, just as they would both hit their peak, Sam would reflexively pull him close, leaning into his shoulder as the hunter rode him to completion. Now it’s obvious that all Lucifer cares about humiliation, agony, and just plain getting off.

“Hey,” the archangel says into the phone. “Was he this well-trained before me, or can I take all the credit?”

Sam closes his eyes; the silence at the other end of the line is deafening.

Lucifer smiles, a chuckle mingling with his words. “Yeah, I figured I was his first. He was a tough one to break, you know. But I guess it’s difficult to keep your cool when you’ve got an archangel’s dick up your ass.”

_oh god please stop this please_

“Shut up,” Dean growls.

The muscles in Lucifer’s jaw tighten. “Unlikely.” He glances towards Sam, legs brushing up against the side of the bed. “You ready, Dean?” He asks, voice light.

“Ready--- ready for what?”

“The main event.” He sits down. “I’m keeping the phone on for this, so you’ll be able to hear _absolutely everything.”_

“I’ll just hang up,” the older Winchester fires back, and Sam’s heart nearly stops; as much as he doesn’t want his brother to witness this, he’ll feel even worse if he’s left alone.

Lucifer shoves the angel blade into the mattress; he’ll need both hands for what he has planned. “You will? But what about poor Sammy? You’re just gonna leave him all alone again?”

“He’ll understand.”

_dean please dean_

“You hear that, roomie?” The archangel lays a hand on Sam’s thigh, causing his boy to jump. “Turns out your brother is a big, fat abandoner, just like your daddy.”

The younger Winchester tenses his muscles and lifts his chin.

_help me_

“Don’t listen to him, Sam,” Dean says but, if he could see the look on his brother’s face, he would realize that these reassurances are pointless. “I’m coming for you, you understand that? I’m gonna find you and I’m gonna take you home.”

“Mm.” Lucifer purses his lips and nods. “That’s very sweet. But until then…” He clicks a button on the side of the phone, turning down the volume; they will no longer be able to hear Dean, but Dean will certainly be able to hear them.

Sam tries to draw his legs up to his chest, but the archangel simply waves a hand and they’re back where they were, and this time spread much further apart.

_wait wait wait_

Lucifer ignores him and he draws his fingers up and over Sam’s thinly-covered cock. It hardens against his palm almost immediately, and he straddles his waist just as a broken whine reaches past his boy’s lips. “You ready for this, Sam?” He asks softly.

Terror is the only thing Sam feels as he looks into Cas’ cool, blue eyes. “N-n-no."

A lust-filled smile on his face, Lucifer leans in. “Good.” Then he takes his boy’s ear between his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please understand that Sam's feeling towards Dean at this moment are fueled by terror, embarrassment, and self-loathing. Him thinking that Dean hates him is definitely a fear of his, as well as the idea that Dean might choose someone else - in this case Cas - over him (refer to Sam's confession in the church at the end of season 10). If he were in a good state, he'd believe the opposite, but Lucifer is messing with his mind in an attempt to get him to say "yes", so it's probably safe to say that he's definitely not alright. Also: the characters' opinions don't necessarily reflect my own.  
> \------  
> One more part to go...


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...but I fear what's to happen, all happened before."

“Sam.”

The name is like a whisper, an unintelligible sound peeking through the fog that clouds the younger Winchester’s mind. His vision is almost nonexistent, and the only stimulation he feels is a sharp pain in his wrists as he tries to contract his arms.

_ that that what is _

Jumbled thoughts try to reorganize themselves when Sam suddenly realizes that whatever he’s lying on is soaking wet. There are little pinpricks across his skin as he arches his back, the liquid sticking to him, as though trying to hold him to the

_ sheets _

The word comes to him in an instant, then

_ bed _

and that’s all it takes. 

He remembers.

But the hunter barely has time to dwell on this recovered understanding when the first wave of pain hits him. And it hits him  _ hard. _

His legs feel like they’ve been filleted and, if he could see the brutal welts on his thighs, he would know that they’d come from at least one of the whips he’d seen in the side table earlier. And then there’s his torso, but all he acquires besides a growing agony is confusion when he drops his gaze to his chest. 

Letters. There are letters scrawled across his skin. There’s

_ f _

and then

_ r _

and then

_ e _

and then there’s no point in him reading any further because he knows what it says. He knows what it says and all he wants right now is to take his eyes off of it, but he can’t, he can’t, he’s frozen, unable to move.

There are many words that bring him great fear, but that’s not what this is; this one brings nothing but embarrassment. Because, in all capital letters, it reads

_ FREAK _

And it only gets worse from there, because he’s finally found one of the sources of the blood that stains the sheets.

The letters, they’re not written in blood, they’re not part of some sadistic finger-painting one might’ve seen on a young Lilith's fridge; they’ve been carved into his flesh using the angel blade. Not only are they deep - a stretch of bone peeks out from underneath the letter “k” - but they’re also undoubtedly permanent.

He’s going to have to live with this. Every time he takes a shower, every time he gets dressed, he’s going to see that word in the mirror and that’s all he’ll have circling around in his mind, that’s he’s a

_ freak _

“Sam.”

And then there’s the worst of it: his ass, and it’s in absolute agony. It’s almost as if it

_ it it it _

is still up there, that Lucifer’s co---

Sam groans, shoving the thought from his mind. But it stays there, it locks onto him like the cuffs around his wrists.

Cock. Lucifer’s cock.

He had Lucifer’s cock in his ass.

Lucifer fucked him.

Lucifer  _ raped  _ him.

Sam tilts his head back, eyes on the canopy above him. Tears cut jagged lines through the dried blood on his cheeks.

“Sam.”

The archangel’s voice shreds through any courage he might’ve thought he had. “Please,” he says, voice cracking. “Please, not again, please.”

“Sam---”

But the boy cuts him off. “I promise, I promise I’ll be good.” He sounds weak, cowardly; and it’s possible that’s just what he is. “I promise.”

Suddenly a hand falls on Sam’s ankle and the younger Winchester screams in terror.

_ don’t don’t lucifer please please pl _

“Sammy!”

The hunter finally looks to the end of the bed, and what he sees sends a bit of hope licking at his fingertips. “Dean?”

His older brother smiles, but the expression is too forced to be of any sort of comfort. Beside him is Crowley, who is looking at everything but his friend’s naked and mutilated body. Down to single layers with uncombed hair and red-tinged eyes, even though it’s barely been one day, they both look much different than the last time Sam saw them. 

“Well,” the demon nods. “My work here is done.” And then he disappears, so eager to leave that he forgets to snap his fingers.

“Hey.”

Sam looks back to Dean, feeling extremely exposed but quite relieved at the same time. He decides to focus on the latter. “Hey.”

“I’m here, okay?” The older Winchester says gently. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving you, not ever.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” a voice interrupts, but Sam doesn’t even have a chance to react, a chance to even call out a warning, because before the word “no” has even left his lips, Cas’ angel blade has already been shoved through Dean’s back.

A surprised gasp is all Dean is capable of, but Sam, Sam pulls on his chains with a greater fury and strength than he has all night, practically dislocating one of his wrists in the process. He only ceases his struggles when Lucifer pokes his head over the older hunter’s shoulder, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Alright, roomie,” the archangel starts, clapping Dean on the arm. “We’re gonna try this one last time. Say the magic word, and I’ll heal big brother.”

The weapon cuts Dean’s palms as he grasps at the blade; he’s spiraling too quickly to truly understand what he’s doing. But Sam, Sam needs him; right here, right now, he needs him, especially since whatever decision he ends up making will be, at its most basic, a death sentence for one of the brothers. And it can’t be Sam. 

_ Not again. _

So he locks his jaw and tries to focus. “Don’t do it, Sammy,” he says, the words strained. “Don’t do it. Not for me.” He shakes his head. “Not for me.”

Tsking loudly, Lucifer pushes the weapon further through Dean’s torso until the hilt is pressed up against his back. A soft moan escapes the archangel as the older Winchester roars in pain but, to be honest, he couldn’t care less about him. Dean is a pawn, one that will be easily discarded once he is no longer of any use. And, if he is correct, this will be the end of the line for the thirty-seven-year-old hunter.

“Alright!” Sam shouts. A fire floods his veins as he relaxes his limbs, but his rising agony is of no consequence. This is no longer just about escaping Lucifer’s torture; Dean’s life is in his hands now too, and he won’t be the cause of his death,

_ not again _

so he does all that he is able. He knocks over his king and surrenders. “Alright.”

Lucifer’s grip tightens on Dean’s bicep. “Say it.”

The younger Winchester closes his eyes. 

Seconds. He’s got seconds left as himself.

Face pale, Dean begs, “Sammy, please---”

But there’s no point.

Sam swallows hard. And then, finally: “Yes.”

A smile flickers across the archangel’s face, but he’s not done. “Again,” he says.

Eyes filling with tears, Sam chokes out a sob. There’s no point, no point in him repeating the word. He’s just doing this now to humiliate him, to bully him, and it’s working. 

_ “Again,”  _ Lucifer says, more firmly this time. He sounds less sadistic than earlier, his tone now like that of a teacher scolding a student. This is the voice he used when they were in The Cage, the voice he used while taking his boy by the ass just an hour or two earlier. It’s quite gentle as well, which almost makes Sam feel like he should enjoy what was done to him. But his tone, it changes when the younger Winchester makes the decision to disobey. His words fill with rage, and every slap, every bite, every thrust becomes more forceful and violent.

Sam can feel his entire body shaking as takes in his brother’s freckled skin for what might be the last time. “Yes,” he says softly.

Dean’s cry of anger is quickly surpassed by one of agony as the angel blade is ripped from his back. He collapses, hands pressed to the gaping wound.

Not sparing him even a glance, Lucifer snaps his fingers, and the cuffs finally unlock.

Sam’s arms fall weakly on either side of his head, splayed out across the pillows. He’s no longer crying; he can barely build up enough strength to move away from his assailant, something he wants to do now more than ever, even though he knows how futile the action would be. 

The archangel tosses the weapon onto the mattress and, with a deep breath, closes his eyes and tilts back his head. An overwhelming light begins to fill the room, spreading so slowly that Sam isn’t even sure if this is occurring at the same speed as it was five years earlier or if Lucifer is doing this just to make it worse. 

Either way, he’s done in just under fifteen seconds. 

Cas falls beside Dean, who can barely muster up a cry of protest as he watches the last bit of the angel slip inside his brother. 

Lucifer’s adjustment to his new vessel is quick, as he sits up almost immediately with a deep breath and a whoop of excitement.

Dean grimaces as the archangel tucks Sam’s hair behind his ears. It’s been half a decade since he last saw those fingers, those eyes, those perfect lips controlled by such evil, and he thinks he can safely say that he’s never experienced anything worse.

_ “God,” _ Lucifer says as he swings his legs over the side of the bed, “does it feel good to be inside him again.” He picks up Sam’s pants, not bothering with underwear as he pulls them up and over his naked ass.

The older Winchester hiccups twice, try and failing to keep himself from crying.

Hearing his quiet sobs, a barely-conscious Cas rolls over, facing him. His mind whispers for him to  _ help help help  _ but he can’t remember or understand why.

“Please,” Dean begs as the archangel gets to his feet.

Blood still staining the blade, Lucifer picks up the weapon before offering the dying hunter a quick smirk. “Too fuckin’ late, bro.” Gaze flicking to his previous vessel, he adds, “And Castiel. Always a pleasure.” 

The wounded angel ignores him, eyes locked on the red spreading across his friend’s chest. He doesn’t understand anything else that’s going on, just that someone he cares about is in danger. So he stretches out one arm and place his hand atop the wound, energy draining even faster as he puts every effort into healing Dean.

Lucifer himself doesn’t seem to care, mainly because he believes that it’s not going to work. He swivels the weapon in his hand. “Well, I’d better be off. Places to destroy, people to disembowel. You know how it is.”

Dean grasps at Cas’ arm, nails digging into the muscles beneath his jacket. “I’m gonna kill you,” he hisses. “I’m gonna find a way to rescue Sam and then I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, you get right on that,” the archangel says, laughter in his voice. “Oh, and hey, while you’re planning your big rescue, do yourself a favor and listen to some White Stripes. I hear  _ Hotel Yorba  _ is an especially good motivator.”

The older Winchester opens his mouth, but there is no time for him to make another plea for mercy, no time for him to issue another threat because, with no more than a quick wink and a mocking “‘til next time,” Lucifer has vanished.

And Dean screams. He screams without words, the sound filled with unsurpassable grief. Tears intermingle with his breathless sobs, and he only cries harder when Cas whispers  _ I’m sorry _ in his ear. 

The hunter grabs onto his friend’s wrist and pulls, pressing the angel’s hand harder against his chest. He can’t die, he _can’t._ He promised Sam he’d bring him home, and he’s going to keep that promise. 

He’s bleeding out, and fast, but Cas can heal him, right? He  _ has _ to heal him. Yet the light beneath the angel’s palm is fading and his eyes are beginning to flicker.

_ “Cas,” _ he tries, but his lungs deny him the air to say even that one word.

_ Sleep,  _ his friend’s voice whispers, and what can the hunter do but accept that this is the only route he can take, that this… this is it.

So Dean allows life to be pried from his now unfurled fingers, his brother’s name ghosting across his lips once more before the darkness pulls him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's where we'll end it for right now.
> 
> A third book is currently being plotted out but, until then, you're just going to have to wait to find out who is still alive and if Sam really can be saved. I would say I'm not going to enjoy leaving you hanging, but that would be a lie.  
> Also, the only slight hint I've given you is about where Lucifer is headed, and it should be easy to figure out if you know the song he recommended to Dean.
> 
> Lastly, thank you so much for all of the comments, questions, and encouragement; they've undoubtedly gotten me even more excited about writing someone like Sam Winchester.


End file.
